The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute; but it was obvious that Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in his heart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult.
"Fancy 'im takin' on like that," muttered Bindle, as he strove to adjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sides of the table. "Funny things foreigners, as 'uffy as birds, they are." Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he enquired, "Wot the 'ell am I a-goin' to call 'im?"
"Call who?" enquired Scratcher, his mouth full of something.
Bindle looked about warily. "Ole Kayser," he whispered. "'E's that sensitive. Explodes if you looks at 'im, 'e does."
Scratcher worked hard to reduce the contents of his mouth to conversational proportions.
"I can't never remember 'is name," continued Bindle. "Went off like a rattle it did."
"Don't know 'is name myself," said Scratcher after a gigantic swallow. "'E's new."
"Wouldn't 'elp you much, ole son, if you did know it," said Bindle with conviction. "Seemed to me like a patent gargle. Never 'eard anythink like it."
"'Ere!" said Bindle to Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who was darting past on his way to another table. The Italian paused, hatred smouldering in his dark eyes.
"I can't remember that name o' yours, ole sport," said Bindle. "Sorry, but I ain't a gramophone. Wot 'ave I got to call you?"