"Don't get in a passion, Dickie," said Chawner; "it's Sunday. You'll have to let me go up instead of you—when I've frightened them a little more."
"Who do you mean by them, sir?" said Paul, growing puzzled.
"As if you didn't know! Oh, you're too clever for me, Dickie, I can see," sniggered Chawner.
"I tell you I don't know!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Look here, Chawner—your confounded name is Chawner, isn't it?—there's a mistake somewhere, I'm sure of it. Listen to me. I'm not going to tell the Doctor what you think I am!"
"What do I think you are going to tell him?"
"I haven't the slightest idea; but, whatever it is, you're wrong."
"Ah, you're too clever, Dickie; you won't betray yourself; but other people want to pay Coker and Tipping out as well as you, and I say you must wait."
"I shan't say anything to affect anyone but myself," said Paul; "if you know all about it, you must know that—it won't interfere with your amusement that I can see."
"Yes, it will," said Chawner irritably, "it will—you mayn't mean to tell of anyone but yourself; but directly Grimstone asks you questions, it all comes out. I know all about it. And, anyway, I forbid you to go up till I give you leave."
"And who the dooce are you?" said Mr. Bultitude, nettled at this assumption of authority. "How are you going to prevent me, may I ask?"