Bobbie Carr seemed a little uncertain.
“I’d better answer him,” said he at last.
At that moment the third shout reached their ears.
“Listen to that,” said Rouse. “He’s off his head. If you go to him now the first thing he’ll do will be to catch you a whack across the face, and then I shall have to come in and intervene. It’s hardly fair to Coles. You go. I’ll go along and see if I can calm him down by means of the honeyed word.”
Eventually Bobbie saw that Rouse meant it and moved slowly away, though, if Rouse’s forecast were true, it seemed to him a little like funking.
Rouse looked at Coles now with cool forbearance.
“As a matter of fact,” said he, “I met Carr a short while back, and as he’d got nothing to do I sent him on a little errand. You would have shouted like that all night and he wouldn’t have heard you. See how silly you make yourself.”
Coles made an idiotic gesture.
“Sent him on an errand?” said he. “But Carr’s my fag!”
“Well, well,” said Rouse, “if you have anything you really want doing permit me to do it for you. I notice you want your neck washing.”