“Never mind what you find,” said Vane; “I’ll tell you what you do.”
“Oh, you will condescend to tell me that,” sneered Distin. “Pray what do I do?”
“Don’t tell him, Lee,” said Gilmore; “and stop it, both of you. Mr Syme will be here directly, and we don’t want him to hear us squabbling over such a piece of idiotic nonsense.”
“And you call my resenting an insult of the most grave nature a piece of idiocy, do you, Mr Gilmore?”
“No, Mr Distin; but I call the beginning of this silly row a piece of idiocy.”
“Of course you fellows will hang together,” said Distin, with a contemptuous look. “I might have known that you were not fit to trust as a friend.”
“Look here, Dis,” said Gilmore, in a low, angry voice, “don’t you talk to me like that.”
“And pray why, sir?” said Distin, in a tone full of contempt.
“Because I’m not Vane, sir, and—”
“I say, old chaps, don’t, please don’t,” cried Macey, earnestly. “Look here; I’ve got a tip from home by this morning’s post, and I’ll be a good feed to set all square. Come: that’s enough.” Then, imitating the rector’s thick, unctuous voice, “Hum—ha!—silence, gentlemen, if you please.”