“Now, you scoundrel—you miserable gaol-bird, what do you mean by coming to me?”
“Mean by coming? I mean you to do things right. If you’d had your dues you’d have been where I was; only you played monkey and made me cat.”
“What?”
“And I had my paws burned while you got the chestnuts.”
“You scoundrel!” cried Hallam, rushing to the fireplace and ringing sharply, “I’ll have the constable and put a stop to this.”
“No, no, no, don’t, don’t, Rob. I’ll do anything you like; I won’t say anything,” gasped the visitor piteously, “only: don’t send for the constable.”
“Indeed but I will,” cried Hallam fiercely, as he walked to the door: but his visitor made quite a leap, fell at his feet, and clung to his legs.
“No, no, don’t, don’t,” he cried hoarsely, and Hallam shook him off, opened the door, and called out:
“Never mind, now; I’ll ring in a few minutes.”
He closed the door and stood scowling at his visitor.