"Mean?" repeated the baker. "I like that! It's you that ought to say what you mean! Are you drunk?"
"Drunk? Me? Why?"
"Why, coming and playing fool tricks on my door—"
"Who's doing that? All I was after was two fellows funning—no, two fellows rulling!" The constable's tongue had become a trifle twisted, and he sought to make amends by shouting at the top of his voice.
"I mean," he roared, "you've got two hokes bliding—no, no!—they cinched a poat, I mean! Dash it, they dot in this gore—!"
"You are drunk," said the baker, judicially. "Very drunk," he added, as an afterthought.
"Never dinn before drinker—I mean, dink before drinner—no!" yelled the constable at the loudest tone he could raise, becoming more and more excited and inarticulate as he went on. "No, I don't mean that! What I mean is, two geeves thot away—they—hurry up!—colted with a boat!"
"A boat?" the baker asked. "Are you mad, Jim, or only—"
"Quick!" yelled the constable, threshing the air with his arms, and dancing first on one foot and then on the other. "Two fung yellows—!" This was as far as he could get, and he remained speechless, his eyes protruding from his head, his tongue tied in a furious knot.
"Oh, my only grandfather!" murmured Billy weakly, almost helpless from his restrained laughter.