“I don’t think you can.”
“He’s lost his heart,” observed Miss Stanbridge, with a merry twinkle in her eye.
The two scoundrels burst out into another and still louder laugh.
“Why, that’s nothing new, missus,” said the Smoucher. “The captain is easily knocked over by a pretty face. He’s so werry susceptible.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, you fool,” cried Alf Purvis, in an angry tone.
“Oh, I’ve done. Sorry I spoke, for the matter of that.”
“But there’s an old saying,” observed the Cracksman, “and may be it’s a wise one—‘the course of true love never did run smooth.’”
All present laughed again, all but Alf, who turned away with disgust.
“I’m not disposed to stand any more of your chaff,” said he, “and so if you’ve nothing better to talk about, the sooner you take your hook the better.”
“Well, I’m blest,” cried the Cracksman, “you are riled about summut, that’s quite sartain. I never knew you to be so short in temper as you are to-day.”