"You don't carry a plow round in your pocket, do you?" asked Mr. Robinson, arching his eyebrows.
"Come, now, Mr. Robinson, that's a good joke for you. I've got a plan of it here on this piece of paper. If you'll squat down somewhere, I'll explain it to you."
"I prefer standing, Mr.—Mr. Tarbarrel."
"Tarbox is my name."
"Ah—Tarbox, then. No great difference."
"You see, Mr. Robberson—"
"Robinson, sir."
"Ah—is it?" said Jonathan, innocently. "No great difference."
Mr. Robinson looked suspicious, but the expression of his companion's face was unchanged, and betrayed no malice prepense.