Percival peered down at Egbert's legs. "Which one, please?" he inquired.
"Figger o' speech," Egbert told him, and explained: "Way of saying things." He added: "Go off in the night one of these days, I shall;" and commented with gloomy satisfaction: "Then they'll be sorry."
Percival asked: "Who will?" He visioned Egbert running by night with one foot embedded in a tombstone, and he was considerably attracted by the picture. "Who will?" he repeated.
"Tyrangs!" said Egbert. "Too late to be sorry then. Fac'."
"Well, I should be dreffly sorry," Percival assured him.
"Believe you," said Egbert, "and many thanks for the same. First that's ever said a kine word to me, you are; and I'll be grateful—if I'm spared."
He looked at his watch and then down the lane. "Think you could get home safe from here? Fac' is I'm behind with my vegules and left them in my other coat."
"Oh, yes," Percival agreed. "This is just by the corner, you know."
"Well, then," said Egbert, halting, "you see, if I don't take 'em fair, can't expec' them to treat me fair, can I?"
Percival assented: "Oh, no."