"Totally and absolutely misinformed," repeated Mr. Rodney with the greatest decision.
"Really, Mr. Rodney," said Mrs. Verulam, preparing to fire up, "what are you saying? Mr. Bush has been shot at."
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Rodney very blandly—"I beg your pardon."
"If I hadn't a dropped, I shouldn't be here now," said Mr. Bush, in a voice whose timbre was slightly obscured by tea-cake.
Mr. Rodney turned towards him.
"I assure you, my dear Mr. Bush," he said, "that you are labouring under an entire delusion; you might with perfect safety have retained an upright posture. It's true that Mr. Lite made use of some hasty, inconsiderate words about skinning."
"There!" roared Mr. Bush; "what did I say?"
"But even they were no doubt rather metaphorical than strictly truthful. As to the firing, however, you were quite mistaken. What you took for a gun was merely a telescope. When you thought you were being shot at, you were only being looked at. There is an appreciable difference between the two operations. I think you will allow that."
And the owner of Mitching Dean calmly dropped into a chair, and prepared to continue his interrupted tea. Mr. Bush looked remarkably sulky under this light of truth.
"Telescope, indeed!" he muttered; "telescope—I daresay!"