"Good-afternoon," she said.
"Good-afternoon."
"Where," with marked expressiveness, "are you going?"
"I'm going to stand right here."
"Give me a drink."
"Couldn't think of it."
"Stand," she said, with sudden viciousness, "stand and rot!"
Raymond, after an instant's surprise, made a response in his unstudied vernacular. "Yes, I'll stand; but you skip. Shoo!"
She was preparing some retort, but he waved both his hands, wide out, as if starting a ruffled, vindictive hen across a highway. At the same time he caught sight of a constable on the corner, and let her see that he saw—
"Constable!"—why, I am as bad as Raymond himself: I mean, of course, policeman.