Pip hesitated. Fatty was his friend - and yet to say that the butcher-boy was his friend would lead him into difficulties. Fatty saw him hesitate and came to the rescue.
‘We’ve got no butcher-boy friends,’ he said. ‘And no telegraph-boy friends either. You remember you asked me that one too?’
‘I’m not speaking to you,’ said Mr. Goon, with a scowl. ‘I’m speaking to Master Philip here. I’d like to get hold of them two red headed lads! And I will too, if I have to go to the post-office and speak to the postmaster, and ask at every butcher’s in the town!’
‘There are only two butchers,’ said Pip.
‘Mr. Goon, I’m so sorry to hear you’ve had one of those horrid letters too,’ said Fatty earnestly. ‘I can’t think how any one could have the nerve - er, I mean - the heart to write to you like that.’
‘Like what?’ said Mr. Goon sharply. ‘What do you know about any letters I’ve had? I suppose you’ll tell me next you’ve seen the letter and know what’s in it, hey?’
‘Well, I can more or less guess,’ said Fatty modestly.
‘You tell me what was in that letter then,’ said Mr. Goon, growing angry.
‘Oh I couldn’t,’ said Fatty. ‘Not with all the others here.’ He didn’t know, of course, what was in the letter at all, beyond that Goon was a meddler and a muddler, but it was amusing to make the policeman think he did.
‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if you didn’t write that there letter to me!’ said Mr. Goon. ‘It might not be the letter-writer at all - it might just be you!’