"I'm the right one. I always am right," said Mole, aggressively. "You don't dare to imply I'm wrong, do you?"
"Won't say what I imply," answered Figgins, with dignity; "but I know you to be only a——"
"Stop, stop, gentlemen," cried Jack. "Let not discord interrupt the harmony of the festive occasion. Mr. Mole, please tone down the violence of your language. Mr. Figgins, calm your agitation, and give us a song."
"A song?" interrupted Mr. Mole, taking the request to himself. "Oh, with pleasure."
And he struck up one of his favourite bacchanalian chants—
"Jolly nose, Jolly nose, Jolly nose!
The bright rubies that garnish thy tip
Are all sprung from the mines of Canary,
Are all sprung——"
"There's no doubt upon their being all sprung anyhow," whispered Harkaway to Girdwood. "Stop, stop, Mr. Mole," he cried at this juncture. "It was Mr. Figgins, not you, that we called upon for a song."