“A scoundrel like you must be past any good to be got from reading his Bible.”
Sedgett turned his dull brown eyes on him, the thick and hateful flush of evil blood informing them with detestable malignity.
“Come; you be civil, if you're going to be my companion,” he said. “I don't like bad words; they don't go down my windpipe. 'Scoundrel 's a name I've got a retort for, and if it hadn't been you, and you a gentleman, you'd have had it spanking hot from the end o' my fist. Perhaps you don't know what sort of a arm I've got? Just you feel that ther' muscle.”
He doubled his arm, the knuckles of the fist toward Algernon's face.
“Down with it, you dog!” cried Algernon, crushing his hat as he started up.
“It'll come on your nose, if I downs with it, my lord,” said Sedgett. “You've what they Londoners calls 'bonneted yourself.'”
He pulled Algernon by the coat-tail into his seat.
“Stop!” Algernon shouted to the cabman.
“Drive ahead!” roared Sedgett.
This signal of a dissension was heard along the main street of Epsom, and re-awakened the flagging hilarity of the road.