"Leave them cobwebs alone, an' I'll tell you, matey."
"Matey!" groaned Mr. Brimberly, turning up his eyes.
"I'm the Guv's familiar friend and personal pal, I am. I'm 'is adviser, confeedential, matreemonial, circumstantial, an' architect'ral. I'm 'is trainer, advance agent, manager, an' sparrin' partner—that's who I am. An' now, mate, 'avin' 'elped to marry 'im, I've jest took a run down 'ere to see as all things is fit an' proper for 'is 'oneymoon!"
"My word, this is a mad feller, this is!" murmured Mr. Brimberly, "or else 'e 's drunk!"
"Drunk?" exclaimed the Old Un, clapping on his hat very much over one eye and glaring, "wot—me?"
"I repeat," said Mr. Brimberly, addressing the universe in general, "I repeats as 'e is a narsty, drunken little person!"
"Person?" cried the Old Un, scowling, "why, you perishin'—"
"Old!" said Mr. Brimberly, "'old, I beg! Enough 'as been said—go 'ence! 'Oo you are I do not know, wot you are I do not care, but in these regions you do not remain; your langwidge forbids and—"
"Langwidge?" snorted the Old Un. "Why, I ain't begun yet, you blinkin', fat-faced, owl-eyed piece o' sooet—"
"Your speech, sir," continued Mr. Brimberly with calm austerity and making the most of whiskers and waistcoat, "your speech is redolent of slums and back halleys. I don't know you. I don't want to know you! You are a feller! Go away, feller!"