repeated,
grasping a handful of indignant whisker. "Oh, outragious! Oh, very
hobscene! 'Ow dare you, sir? 'Oo are you, sir, eh, sir--answer me, an'
answer--prompt!"

"Leave them cobwebs alone, an' I'll tell you, matey."

"Matey!" groaned Mr. Brimberly, turning up his eyes.

"I'm the Guv's familiar friend and personal pal, I am. I'm 'is
adviser, confeedential, matreemonial, circumstantial, an' architect'ral.
I'm 'is trainer, advance agent, manager, an' sparrin' partner--that's
who I am. An' now, mate, 'avin' 'elped to marry 'im, I've jest took a
run down 'ere to see as all things is fit an' proper for 'is 'oneymoon!"

"My word, this is a mad feller, this is!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, "or
else 'e 's drunk!"

"Drunk?" exclaimed the Old Un, clapping on his hat very much over one
eye and glaring, "wot--me?"

"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly, addressing the universe in general, "I
repeats as 'e is a narsty, drunken little person!"

"Person?" cried the Old Un, scowling, "why, you perishin'--"

"Old!" said Mr. Brimberly, "'old, I beg! Enough 'as been said--go 'ence!
'Oo you are I do not know, wot you are I do not care, but in these
regions you do not remain; your langwidge forbids and--"

"Langwidge?" snorted the Old Un. "Why, I ain't begun yet, you blinkin',
fat-faced, owl-eyed piece o' sooet--"

"Your speech, sir," continued Mr. Brimberly with calm austerity and
making the most of whiskers and waistcoat, "your speech is redolent of
slums and back halleys. I don't know you. I don't want to know you! You
are a feller! Go away, feller!"

"Feller?" snarled the Old Un, "why you--"

"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly with dignified deliberation, "I repeat as
you are a very low, vulgar little feller!"

The Old Un clenched his fists.

"Right-o!" he nodded cheerily. "That's done it! F' that I'm a-goin' t'
punch ye in th' perishin' eye-'ole!" And he advanced upon the points of
his toes, shoulders hunched, and head viciously outthrust.

"My word!" exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating rather precipitately,
"this is very discomposing, this is! I shall have to call the perlice."

"Perlice!" snarled the Old Un, fiercer than ever, "you won't have
nothing t' call with when I've done wi' ye. I'm goin' t' jab ye on th'
beak t' begin with, then I'll 'ook my left t' your kidneys an' swing my
right to your p'int an' crumple ye up with a jolt on your perishin'
solar plexus as 'll stiffen you till th' day o' doom!"

"'Oly angels!" murmu