Hal who had no soul for subtle reasoning, plunged into the object of the meeting.
"The fact is, Tuppy," he said, leaning back in his padded chair, and cocking one leg on to the desk before him, "the fact is," he repeated, "there's a man, a Duke man, that the governor's anxious to run out of Brockley."
"Dear, dear!" commented Tuppy with polite interest.
"He's not one of our dukes: he's a French Duke from America, and he's been acting the goat and getting upsides with the governor and blithering generally—do you understand."
"Very pithily put," murmured Tuppy, "the whole situation is revealed in one illuminatin' flash."
"Very good," said Hal complacently. "Well, being in the suburbs—the Duke—and the suburbs being——"
"In the suburbs," suggested the helpful Tuppy as Hal paused for an illustration.
"Exactly .... It stands to reason that a lot of these bounders have gone in for a sort of hero-worship. See?" Tuppy nodded slowly.
"The fact being," explained Hal, "that these suburban people are such absolute rotters and—and——"
"Pifflers?" suggested Tuppy.