Cray. What's the matter?
Pil. I cannot countenance such language. My sacred calling——
Cray. (looking at him more attentively) Oh, I see! Didn't know you were a magpie. Come to think of it, s'pose I passed your place of business a little way up the road, (pointing up L.)
Pil. Er—hum—yes.
Cray. Oh, well then, I take back the damn. After all, it don't do to open one's front door too quick. S'pose you thought I was the Water Rate. (puts foot on chair, pulls out handkerchief, and dusts boot)
Pil. No, sir.
Cray. Gas?
Pil. Certainly not.
Cray. Then what the devil did you think? (dusts other boot)
Pil. I had no theory on the subject; and as to your language—I really must beg——