The stranger eyed him unfavourably.
“Who’s this?” he demanded.
“This is a friend of mine,” said Rex, “and you’re in his flat. And if the only business you have is to abuse my uncle, you can get out just as soon as you like.”
Mr. Wellington Brown tapped the young man’s chest with a grimy forefinger.
“Your uncle is a rascal! Get that! A low thief!”
“Better write and tell him so,” said Tab, briskly. “Just now I am engaged in churning out two yards of journalese, and you’re disturbing my thoughts.”
“Write to him!” roared Mr. Brown delightedly, “write to him! Thas good—best thing I’ve heard for years! Why—!”
“Get out!”
Babe Lander threw open the door with a crash and the visitor glared at him.
“Like uncle, like nephew,” he said, “like nephew, like lackey—I’m goin’. And let me tell you—”