He rose as he spoke, and crossing to the bell rang it. They thought he was speaking in jest and ringing for drinks; they laughed, and Hughie began to yell, yell, and slash the table with his cane in time to what he was yelling.
This beast, who was never happy unless smashing glasses, making a noise or tormenting his neighbours, who had never been really sober for the space of some five years, who had destroyed a fine estate, and broken his mother’s heart, seemed now endeavouring to break his wanghee cane on the table.
The noise was terrific.
The door opened and calves appeared.
“Throw that ruffian out,” said Jones.
“Out with him,” cried Hughie, throwing away his cane at this joke. “Come on, Stark, let’s shove old Jollops out of doors.”
He advanced to the merry attack, and Stark, livened up by the other, closed in, receiving a blow on the midriff that seated him in the fender.
The next moment Hughie found himself caught by a firm hand, that had somehow managed to insert itself between the back of his collar and his neck, gripping the collar.
Choking and crowing he was rushed out of the room and across the hall to the front door, a running footman preceding him. The door was opened and he was flung into the street.
The ejection of Stark was an easier matter. The hats and coats were flung out and the door shut finally.