Jones lank, spare, opening his long legs with angular regularity like
a pair of compasses, the other stepping out briskly by his side.
Conviction entered Schomberg's heart. They _were_ two desperadoes--no
doubt about it. But as the funk which he experienced was merely
a general sensation, he managed to put on his most severe
Officer-of-the-Reserve manner, long before they had closed with him.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
Being answered with derisive civility, he became confirmed in his sudden
conviction of their desperate character. The way Mr. Jones turned his
hollow eyes on one, like an incurious spectre, and the way the other,
when addressed, suddenly retracted his lips and exhibited his teeth
without looking round--here was evidence enough to settle that point.
Desperadoes! They passed through the billiard-room, inscrutably
mysterious, to the back of the house, to join their violated trunks.
"Tiffin bell will ring in five minutes, gentlemen." Schomberg called
after them, exaggerating the deep manliness of his tone.
He had managed to upset himself very much. He expected to see them come
back infuriated and begin to bully him with an odious lack of restraint.
Desperadoes! However they didn't; they had not noticed anything unusual
about their trunks and Schomberg recovered his composure and said
to himself that he must get rid of this deadly incubus as soon as
practicable.
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