"No," said Mr. Bush into the tube.
"Oh, you're there at last, are you?" (More words.) "I wonder you have the impidence to come. Yes, I do, and Mrs. Lite says similar. She wonders, she says, you have the blasted impidence to come at all after keeping me dancing here for an hour and more. What? Dancing here, I say. I've been dancing here for an hour and more."
"Keep on dancing!" roared Mr. Bush to the tube. "Keep it up!"
He did not in the least comprehend what the telephone was, or what was happening. All he knew was that a voice was insulting him with a refreshing grossness, and that he seemed able, by means of this tube, to insult it back again. This pleased him very well, and he carefully laid his candlestick down on the floor with a view to thorough ease and equality in the ensuing combat. Then he once more seized the tube, and reiterated, "Dance away, and be ——!"
There was a long pause. Apparently the voice, obedient to the command, was engaged in dancing away and being treated according to Mr. Bush's prescription. That gentleman began to be afraid that the game was up, and that he had shown his valour too abruptly, when his ear was again tickled by the reassuring utterance:
"To-morrow I'll skin you!" (Pause.) "D'you hear what I say?—to-morrow, when you come round with your report, I'll skin you!"
Mr. Bush scratched his head, trying to invent an appropriate rejoinder to this pleasantry.
"When you come round with the report, skin you I will, as sure as you're a living man," tickled the voice once more.
"I sha'n't come round," said Mr. Bush. "Go to blazes!"