“Yes,” returns Madame, “and I mean you to keep so.”
“I vas born for a sport-mans,” Mr. Regniati observes to us.
I notice that he is fond of putting words into a sort of plural of his own invention.
“You're lucky, Mr. Regniati,” observes his wife, “to find that out at all events. For my part I can't make out why you were ever born at all.”
Again the Signor smiles, and says in cheerful remonstrance, “Oh my dear!” but he is too wise to continue a conversation which would only involve an argument, and perhaps, the loss of his “lee-tel shoot-box at Bod-ge-bee.”
Dick, i.e. Milburd, benefits considerably by this arrangement. His aunt pays all the expenses (trusting Mr. Regniati with no money), as long as he and his uncle are together.
“Richard,” she says, “is clever and careful. My husband is a schoolboy. I can only trust a schoolboy with a tutor.”
We are at dinner when the Signor arrives.
He enters in a state of great excitement.
“Ah!” he exclaims, “'Ow do you do?” this to everyone generally. “Ah Deeck!” this to Milburd, reproachfully. “Vy you not meet me at ze Rail-vays?”