"Listen to me," he continued, addressing the open window. "This is most important. You've been very rude to me. What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm sitting here," said Peter.
He heard them blundering up the wooden staircase. He might have sported a strong oak, locking them out until his friends had come together. But it hardly seemed worth while.
He leaned upright by the open window, his hands in his pockets, as the Dundoons playfully rearranged the furniture. The etiquette on an occasion like this was simple. He must not make himself ridiculous by taking too seriously the frolic of men not entirely sober. Neither must he allow himself to be insulted. Peter looked carelessly on, very calm but alert to decide when the joke had gone as far as the decorum of Gamaliel allowed.
One of the Dundoons was arranging Peter's coal neatly upon the mantelpiece. Another was turning his pictures to the wall. His tablecloth and hearthrug were transposed. His wardrobe was assorted into heaps upon the floor and labelled for a sale by auction.
Suddenly Peter saw that Dundoon was about to empty a water-jug into the bed. Peter passed swiftly towards him.
"I don't think we'll do that," he said. "It would be nasty."
"You've been very rude to me," said Dundoon, dangerously tilting the jug.
Peter grasped him firmly by the arm and took the jug away. He put it back into the corner.
Dundoon looked at Peter for a moment in drunken meditation. Then he put his hand on Peter's shoulder.