“Won’t he?” said Stukeley angrily. “I’ll see whether he won’t.”
He picked up his cane and walked out swiftly. The servant listened at the door for the details of the quarrel.
“Hark-ee,” came Stukeley’s voice. “Here’s your bill. D’ye see it? There!”—there came a sound of tearing paper—“Now take that back to your master. Next time you disturb me at breakfast I’ll break your head. Get out of this.”
The haberdasher’s clerk withdrew. The landlady aided his retreat with a few words about not having her guests disturbed.
Stukeley returned to his breakfast-room. Jessie looked at him admiringly.
“Aha, Jessie,” he said. “What nice arms you’ve got. Eh? Haven’t you? Eh? Beautiful arms.” He pinched them, following her about as she backed to avoid him.
“You’ve got a wife,” said Jessie. “What do you want with arms? Don’t! Don’t! You’ll make me scream out.”
Again came the voice of the mistress.
“Jessie! Jessie! Drat the girl.”
The amorous by-play ceased; Jessie went swiftly.