Albert was conscious of a peculiar feeling, partly of irritation at Issachar, partly something else. Mr. Price crowed delightedly.
“Hi!” he chortled. “Why, Al, your face is gettin' all redded up. Haw, haw! Blushin', ain't you, Al? Haw, haw, haw! Blushin', by crimustee!”
Albert laid down his pen. He had learned by experience that, in Issy's case, the maxim of the best defensive being a strong offensive was absolutely true. He looked with concern about the office.
“There's a window open somewhere, isn't there, Is?” he inquired. “There's a dreadful draught anyhow.”
“Eh? Draught? I don't feel no draught. Course the window's open; it's generally open in summer time, ain't it. Haw, haw!”
“There it is again! Where—Oh, I see! It's your mouth that's open, Issy. That explains the draught, of course. Yes, yes, of course.”
“Eh? My mouth! Never you mind my mouth. What you've got to think about is that Eddie Raymond. Yes sir-ee! Haw, haw!”
“Issy, what makes you make that noise?”
“What noise?”
“That awful cawing. If you're trying to make me believe you're a crow you're wasting your time.”