“Here, young fellow—you, sir! Who are your—what are you?” he exclaimed.
“Who am I, my unceremonious old friend, and what am I? Well, my name is Trethick, and I’m a mining engineer.”
“But are you respectable?”
“No,” said Geoffrey, solemnly. “I am very poor; so I don’t think I am.”
“Confound you, sir!” cried the old gentleman. “Your eyes are twinkling. You’re laughing at me.”
“True, oh, king,” said Geoffrey.
“But can you pay regularly for your lodgings?”
“I hope so,” replied Geoffrey, whom the choleric old fellow thoroughly amused.
“Come here,” cried the latter, dropping the doctor and hooking Geoffrey by the arm, as if taking him into custody. “You’re good for the bile! Rumsey, I’ll take him up to Mrs Mullion’s, or she’ll be letting her rooms to the new parson out of spite.”