His projecting ears burned crimson.
"Well, an' suppose I do. Did she——"
"Did she wot?"
"You pipe well enough. Did she 'ave it?"
"Tyke it I am anxious. Did she? No cod?"
"Did she git your letter wot you put in the box o' choc's? O' course she did, Mister. Wot do you tyke me for? A silly looney or a sneakin' thief?"
"I'll tell you what I tyke you for. A jolly little bit of English All Right. Say! Do you think ..." The prominent Adam's apple jutting over the edge of the guillotining double collar worked emotionally. "Think she'll send an answer, eh?"
"Reckon she will; you watch out an' see!"
"You fust-clarss little brick!"