“I’m not telling lies!” cried I.
“Yes, you are!” said Crow. “I’m ashamed of you!”
“Oh, it was you, was it?” demanded Mr Doubleday, turning to me; “then just come and wipe it up. Look sharp!”
I was disposed to resist this piece of injustice to the utmost, but somehow the morning of my arrival it would hardly look well to figure in a row.
“I didn’t do it,” said I, in an agitated voice, “but I’ll wipe it up.”
“Look sharp about it, then!” said Doubleday, grinning at Wallop.
It is one thing to offer to wipe up an ink puddle, and quite another to do it.
“Now then!” said Doubleday, as I stood doubtfully in front of the scene of operation.
“I don’t know,” I faltered,—“I, that is—I haven’t got anything I can do it with.”
“What! not got a handkerchief!” exclaimed the head clerk, in apparent consternation.