“This cove do—and he are!”
“Well, he didn’t mean. The gentlemen here want to ask you some questions, that’s all.”
“I ain’t a-goin’ to be arsted no questions. They ain’t my governors, so I let them know. I ain’t a-goin’ to be arsted questions by any one ’sep my governor.”
“But what they want to ask you, Billy,” said I, “has something to do with Mr Smith’s happiness and mine. All you have to do is to tell the truth.”
This explanation mollified the ruffled Billy somewhat.
“Come, young cock-sparrow,” said Doubleday, returning from announcing the distinguished visitor, “you’re wanted inside. They want you, too, Batch.”
We entered. Billy, as usual, was more at his ease than any one else. “What cheer? Well, what do you want to arst me?” he cried, jauntily.
The partners, thus encouraged, looked rather amused, and Mr Barnacle said, “You’re the little shoeblack, are you?”
“In corse I are!”
“And you know this gentleman?”