"Oh," said Mr. Bunting, "sit down, boy, and look at me. Do I look mad?"
Bob looked at him and then at the room.
"The room looks mad," he replied. And it certainly did.
"That was the last one," said Mr. Bunting. "He was very troublesome."
"He's a war correspondent," said Bob. "But why is your name Bunting?"
"How the devil do I know?" asked the other, in reply. "Perhaps, as you seem to know them, you can explain what it all means?"
"I will try, sir, if you will tell me what occurred," said Bob.
"First of all," said the outraged member of All Saints, "the American person knocked and came in, and he said: 'Is your name Bunting?' And I said, 'Yes, confound you, for your infernal impudence, and what is yours?' And he said, 'What the devil do you mean by saying you have married her?' And I said I'd said nothing of the kind, and I said if he didn't get out in two shakes of a lamb's tail, I'd throw him out. And he was furious, and couldn't and wouldn't explain, so I did throw him out. And, as he tumbled down-stairs, he said he'd married her himself. And he went away, and I sat down to read Thucydides. He's under the sofa now somewhere. And then the Jew came, and he said: 'You mutht contradict the report of your being married to her at onth,' and that made me very cross, and I said I wouldn't, and that made him very wild, so I said I was married to her just as he said he was—"
"Oh," said Bob, "and are you? Oh, dear, I am so confused! Are you really, really married to Pen?"
"I shall drop you out of the window in a minute," said Mr. Bunting. "I said it to annoy him, and it did, and he said I was a liar. So I opened the door and took him by the neck and dropped him down-stairs, and he howled awfully. And I said to him over the bannisters, 'I am married to her, and have been married for years to her, and she loves me very much, and we are going to acknowledge it as soon as I've taken my B.A.' And he went away holding his neck, and then the little man came in. Did you say he was a poet?"