"What does that mean, Mr. Houthouse? I presume you'll not dispute the paternal parent's legal authority?"
"Go away, sir," said Mr. Outhouse.
"Go away!"
"Yes;—out of this house. It's my belief that you are a knave."
"A knave, Mr. Houthouse?"
"Yes;—a knave. No one who was not a knave would lend a hand towards separating a little child from its mother. I think you are a knave, but I don't think you are fool enough to suppose that the child will be given up to you."
"It's my belief that knave is hactionable," said Bozzle,—whose respect, however, for the clergyman was rising fast. "Would you mind ringing the bell, Mr. Houthouse, and calling me a knave again before the young woman?"
"Go away," said Mr. Outhouse.
"If you have no objection, sir, I should be glad to see the lady before I goes."
"You won't see any lady here; and if you don't get out of my house when I tell you, I'll send for a real policeman." Then was Bozzle conquered; and, as he went, he admitted to himself that he had sinned against all the rules of his life in attempting to go beyond the legitimate line of his profession. As long as he confined himself to the getting up of facts nobody could threaten him with a "real policeman." But one fact he had learned to-day. The clergyman of St. Diddulph's, who had been represented to him as a weak, foolish man, was anything but that. Bozzle was much impressed in favour of Mr. Outhouse, and would have been glad to have done that gentleman a kindness had an opportunity come in his way.