It was DeRue Hannington, immaculate as usual, but terribly excited and mentally worked-up.
This same Percival DeRue Hannington had now become an established fact in Vernock. While he was looked upon as more or less of a fool in regard to money matters––with more money than brains––he had that trait about him which many well-bred Englishmen possess; he always commanded a certain amount of respect, and he declined to tolerate anything verging on loose familiarity.
“Say!” he was drawling, as he strode the saw-dusted floor, whacking his leggings with his riding crop, “what would you Johnnies do with a rotter that grossly maltreated your horse?”
“Stand him a drink,” came a voice.
“Lynch him,” suggested another.
“Push his daylights in!”
“Dip him in the lake!”
“Invite him up home and treat him to a boiled egg!”
“Forget it!”