"Loafing?" cried Mr. Brimberly, very red in the face. "Loaf—"
"I also ask you, very p'inted, wherefore an' why you loaf, guzzlin' an' swillin' your master's good liquor?"
"Guzzling!" gasped Mr. Brimberly. "Oh, 'eavens, this is a outrage, this is! I'll—"
"It sure is! An' so are you, winebibber!"
"Winebib—" Mr. Brimberly choked, his round face grew purple, and he flourished pudgy fists while Mrs. Trapes folded her cotton-gloved hands and watched him.
"Winebibber!" she nodded. "An' the wine as you now bib is your master's, consequently it was stole, an' bein' stole you're a thief, an' bein' a thief—"
"Thief!" gurgled Mr. Brimberly. "Ha, thief's a hepithet, thief is, and a hepithet 's hactionable! I'll 'ave you indented for perjoorious expressions—"
"Winebibber!" she sighed. "Snake an' plunderer!"
"Never," cried Mr. Brimberly, "never in all my days did I ever 'earken to such contoomacious contoomacity! 'Oo are you an' wot—"
"Hand over that bottle and what you've left o' them cigars!"