Through the open door there came gusts of hilarity from below, and the sound of horseplay.
The sculptor chuckled.
Pangbutt scowled:
“Oh, no—treat the place like a pot-house,” he said. “Of course I am delighted,” he added ironically.
Rippley turned and winked an eye solemnly at the others; he burst into a jovial laugh, and gripping Pangbutt’s shoulder with his great hand:
“Good old Paul,” cried he—“of course you are!... But we found old Lovegood before us—the sly old dog.”
He left his sulky host, and, walking up to Lovegood, punched his embarrassed bulk in the ribs.
Lovegood strode over to the brooding man:
“Pangbutt,” he said—“you would rather have them go. Why don’t you say so?”
“No, no—let them alone.”