"What?" says I.
"I say, did you ever hear the like of it?" he repeated. "Dick and Bentley, this fellow is the very devil!"
"What fellow?" says I.
"Lay you fifty it's Tawnish," gurgled Bentley.
"Done!" says I.
"A deuced pretty coil, on my soul!" says Jack, beginning to limp up and down, "oh, a deuced pretty coil—damn the fellow!"
"What fellow?" says I again.
"Make it a hundred?" says Bentley, in my ear.
"What fellow?" cries Jack, taking me up, "d'ye mean to sit there and ask what fellow—whom should it be?"
"Aye, who indeed?" added Bentley.