He spoke with a laugh that removed any of the sting the words might otherwise have had.
A chorus of:
“That’s all right, sir.” “We’re agreeable,” and so on, greeted his words.
“That being the case, I shall have to ask you to step back into the press boat,” said Mr. Lockyer firmly to the fleshy man, who showed no disposition to move.
“And who are you, may I ask?” shot out the intruder in an offensive tone.
“My name is Channing Lockyer. I’m the owner and builder of this boat,” was the quiet reply.
“Oh, you are, are you,” rejoined the other, with a harsh laugh. “Well, when do you expect to submerge her?”
“I can’t answer that question,” replied the inventor good-naturedly. “That is one of the things I warned you gentlemen about asking.”
“Seems to me you’re pretty well stuck up for a poverty-stricken inventor with a gim-crack boat,” returned the other, coolly drawing out a cigar and lighting it with an easy manner, but betraying not the slightest haste to leave the boat.
By this time the attention of the other reporters had been drawn to this argument and their voices began to rise in protest at the stout man’s behavior.