“Gaw-ing?” he said, in a surprised tone. “Why, stwaight on, of cawse—stwaight on!”
“Then, I’m going round here!” I said, wheeling off abruptly at a right angle from the road we had been pursuing, and going out of my way in order to get rid of him.
Flesh and blood could no longer stand his unmeaning, yet gibing platitudes.
“Bai-ey Je-ove!” he exclaimed. “But, stawp, my deah fellah. Lorton, I asshaw you I only meant to say—ah—that Miss Clyde sang my songs most divinely—ah—and that she’s—ah—a vewy nice gahl—ah!”
Confound him!
What business had he to say or think anything of the sort?
I could faintly hear his voice exclaim “Bai-ey Je-ove!” in the distance, after some seconds’ interval, during which we had become widely separated.
I was as thoroughly out of temper as I could possibly be.
I was angry with everybody in the world, Min not excepted, and with the world itself; but, at myself, more than all.