Pringle.
Well, I must say I'm glad you've got rid of him. And—er—you can rely on me to keep quiet about it for the future.
Horace.
[Drily.] My dear chap, I feel sure I can.
Pringle.
[Going up to the door on right above the arch.] Good-night. [Disconsolately.] I shall go and get something to eat at an "A.B.C."
Horace.
[Going up with him.] Good-night, old fellow. It's rough on you, but I did my best!
Pringle.
[Turning on him with resentment.] You needn't have told 'em I'd had three teeth out! Good-night.