"Hulloa," Guy responded.
"Oh, beg your pardon," exclaimed the other. "I thought it was Willsher."
"My name's Hazlewood," said Guy a little stiffly.
"Mine's Brydone. We may as well hop in together."
Guy rather resented the implication of this birdlike intrusion in company with the doctor's son, a lanky youth whom he had often noticed slouching about Wychford in a cap ostensibly alive with artificial flies. Apparently Willsher must also be expected, against whom Guy had already conceived a violent prejudice dating from the time he called at his father's office to sign the agreement for the tenancy of Plashers Mead. It was of ill augury that the Greys should apparently be supposing that he would make a trio with Brydone and Willsher.
"Brought a lantern, eh?" said Brydone.
"Yes, this is a lantern," Guy answered coldly.
"You'll never see me with a lantern," Brydone declared.
Guy would like to have retorted that he hoped he would never even see Brydone without one. But he contented himself by saying with all that Balliol could bring to his aid of crushing indifference,
"Oh, really?"