"I likewise 'eered her call your name—Beverley, I think?"
"Yes,—well?"
"Beverley!" repeated Mr. Shrig.
"Yes."
"But your name's—Barty!"
"True, but in London I'm known as Beverley, Mr. Shrig."
"Not—not—the Beverley? Not the bang up Corinthian? Not the
Beverley as is to ride in the steeplechase?"
"Yes," said Barnabas, "the very same,—why?"
"Now—dang me for a ass!" exclaimed Mr. Shrig, and, snatching off the fur cap, he dashed it to the ground, stooped, picked it up, and crammed it back upon his head,—all in a moment.
"Why—what's the matter?"