“It’s all right, gents, it’s all right,” exclaimed D. Wragg; “that’s only Jack Scruby, and he’s nobody. It’s all right, gents!” and he jerked his arm here and there. “There’s rats, gents, aint they? There’s dorgs, aint they! What do you say to as nice a toy tarrier as was ever give to a lady?”
“Who’s the young lady who was here just now?” said Lionel, coolly.
D. Wragg’s face changed slightly, as looking sharply up into his visitor’s face, he said, bluntly—
“Oh, never mind her; she’s a visitor—girl up-stairs. We was talking about dorgs, wasn’t us?”
Lionel was checked for the moment; but seeing Harry’s eye fixed keenly upon him, he said, roughly—
“There, there! I want no toy tarriers. Where’s Luff?”
“It’s all right, sir; don’t you make no mistake. When I says as I’ll get a gent his dorg, I mean it; and—there now!” he exclaimed, with a voice of the most intense disgust. “I did think as I was dealing with gents as would keep their word. I calls that shabby. But just as you like, though; I’m ready.”
“What do you mean?” said Harry Clayton; for the little man had thrust his hands into his pockets, and leant back against a parrot’s cage, whose occupant immediately buried its beak amongst the wiry hair that ornamented D. Wragg’s scalp.
“What do I mean? Why! didn’t I give you both a hint about the suspiciousness of the gent as had the dorg? Didn’t I tell you what might be the consequences? Didn’t I tell you as they was a body of men as I despises? And yet you both has the meanness to go and bring one along with you. That ere aint the way to get dorgs back as is lost. Don’t you make no mistake, gents. You may depend upon it as the party as that dorg follered home has gone right chock away in disgust long enough ago.”
“Police!” exclaimed Lionel. “Why, the man’s mad!”