“You did, did you?” said Mr. Hoopdriver.
“Backing out of it, Charlie?” said the young man with the gaiters.
“Not a bit,” said Charlie. “Surely we can pass a bit of a joke—”
“I’m going to teach you to keep your jokes to yourself,” said Mr. Hoopdriver.
“Bray-vo!” said the shepherd of the flock of chins.
“Charlie is a bit too free with his jokes,” said the little man with the beard.
“It’s downright disgusting,” said Hoopdriver, falling back upon his speech. “A lady can’t ride a bicycle in a country road, or wear a dress a little out of the ordinary, but every dirty little greaser must needs go shouting insults—”
“I didn’t know the young lady would hear what I said,” said Charlie. “Surely one can speak friendly to one’s friends. How was I to know the door was open—”
Hoopdriver began to suspect that his antagonist was, if possible, more seriously alarmed at the prospect of violence than himself, and his spirits rose again. These chaps ought to have a thorough lesson. “Of course you knew the door was open,” he retorted indignantly. “Of course you thought we should hear what you said. Don’t go telling lies about it. It’s no good your saying things like that. You’ve had your fun, and you meant to have your fun. And I mean to make an example of you, Sir.”
“Ginger beer,” said the little man with the beard, in a confidential tone to the velveteen jacket, “is regular up this ’ot weather. Bustin’ its bottles it is everywhere.”