“Certainly you may,” he replied. “I have something else to do beside pointing out the blunders of your staff.”
“Then I ask your pardon for having assumed that you marked the paper,” said I. “I was too hasty.”
“You were—quite too hasty,” said he, going to the door.
“I’ve acknowledged it,” said I. “And therefore I’ll not go to your rector until to-morrow evening to prove to him that his curate is a sneak and a liar as well as an extremely ignorant person.”
He returned as I sat down.
“What paper is it that you allude to?” he asked.
“I showed it to you,” said I. “It was the paper that you re-edited in red ink and posted anonymously to the proprietor.”
“Oh, that?” said he. “Why on earth didn’t you say so at once? Of course I sent that paper. My dear fellow, it was only my little joke. I meant to have a little chaff with you about the mistakes.”
“Go away—go away,” said I. “Go away, Stiggins.”
And he went away.