“Here, you: Rumsey!” he cried, panting with anger and pointing at Geoffrey with his cane, as a fair, fresh-coloured man in grey tweed came slowly up; “who the devil is this fellow?”
“Don’t be cross, old gentleman,” said Geoffrey, laughing. “I will tell you my name if you like.”
“Confound your name, sir! What the deuce are you—a bagman?”
“No,” said Geoffrey; “but look,” he added quickly, as he pointed to the circle of nets. “What does that mean?”
“Ha, ha, ha! I told you so,” chuckled the old man, whose face underwent a complete change. “They’ve got on a rock, and the whole school has gone.”
“Poor fellows! What a disappointment,” said Geoffrey.
“Bah! A man must expect disappointments here. Rumsey, I’m horribly bilious this morning,” he continued, turning to the fresh-coloured man.
“Yes, so you seem,” was the reply; and Geoffrey smiled at the frank confession. “Exceeded your dose last night.”
“Dose?” said the old gentleman. “Hang it, man, don’t call a glass of spirits and water by the same name as your filthy drugs. Good-morning, boy! and don’t you laugh at me.”
Hooking the fresh-coloured man by the arm, he was moving off.