Cummings: I believe you. It's all right for you, here in Piccadilly, right on the spot as you might say. And I daresay your governor's often out all night, eh?
Bunter: Oh, frequently, Mr. Cummings.
Cummings: And I daresay you take the opportunity to slip off yourself every so often, eh?
Bunter: Well, what do you think, Mr. Cummings?
Cummings: That's it; there you are! But what's a man to do with a nagging fool of a wife and a blasted scientific doctor for a governor, as sits up all night cutting up dead bodies and experimenting with frogs?
Bunter: Surely he goes out sometimes.
Cummings: Not often. And always back before twelve. And the way he goes on if he rings the bell and you ain't there. I give you my word, Mr. Bunter.
Bunter: Temper?
Cummings: No-o-o — but looking through you, nasty-like, as if you was on that operating table of his and he was going to cut you up. Nothing a man could rightly complain of, you understand, Mr. Bunter, just nasty looks. Not but what I will say he's very correct. Apologizes if he's been inconsiderate. But what's the good of that when he's been and gone and lost you your nights rest?
Bunter: How does he do that? Keeps you up late, you mean?