"Are you sure he was a lord at all, Mr. Figgins?" asked Mole, dubiously.
"Mr. Mole," said the orphan, indignantly; "do you doubt my veracity?"
"Not a bit," answered the schoolmaster, "but I doubt the voracity of your hearers being sufficient for them to swallow all you are telling us."
"Well, gentlemen," pursued Figgins, turning from Mole in disgust, "this Lord Whatshisname used to have behind his carriage about the nicest little tiger that ever was seen——"
"Nothing like the tiger I saw in Bengal one day, I'm sure," broke in Mr. Mole, in a loud and positive tone. "Come, Figgins, I'll bet you ten to one on it."
The orphan rose to his feet in great indignation.
"Isaac Mole, Esq., I have borne patiently with injuries almost too great for mortal man throughout this day. I consider myself insulted by you, and I will have satisfaction."
"Well, old boy, if you just mention what will satisfy you, I'll see," said Mole.
"Nothing short of a full and complete apology."
"You don't get that out of me," the schoolmaster scornfully retorted. "Preposterous. What I, Isaac Mole, who took the degree of B. A. at the almost infantine age of thirty-four, to apologise to one who is——"