'An' that ain't callin' me my lord, is it, sir?'
'Go and find her, I tell you. Find her, find her. Can't you see I'm a ruined man if she returns not, and the show is ruined?'
'Not much it ain't, boss. You still has me, as Micawber's wife said to 'im. An' you has Bruin an' the Living Skeleting.'
'Go and find Lot, I tell you. You are in the plot. I feel sure you are.'
'Do you now?'
'You—you—you'—— Biffins couldn't find a word strong enough to fling at the fat boy.
'Suppose,' said Chops, with provoking coolness, 'that I says I sha'n't. An' suppose I sings like this 'ere:
For though I am your wedded wife,
Yet I am not your slave, sir.'
Biffins Lee had a huge iron paper-weight in his hand, and this he launched at Chops's head with all his force. Had it struck the boy he never would have breathed again. But he ducked in time, and the weight shivered a huge flower-pot—a property. Chops picked up the paper-weight.
'Now, listen, boss. I gives you warnin'. I'm hoff, an' I takes this 'ere triflin' memento mori with me. An' if ye hattempts to foller'—— Chops balanced the terrible paper-weight on his palm by way of emphasising his words. 'Good-bye, Biffins Lee. Think of me w'en far away. No more at present from your confectionate friend an' lovier trew, Chops, 'is mark. W'ich I is hever a-thinkin' on you, Bill.' And Chops marched straight away and never once looked back.