“‘Hadn’t we better get the letter?’ whispered I.
“‘No; he’d better fork it out to Granville,’ said Waterford.
“He was wrong for once, as you shall hear.
“Durfy slunk off and sat down on a chair in the far corner of the room, swearing to himself, but not venturing to raise his voice above a growl.
“It was now about half-past twelve, and we had the lively prospect of waiting at least eight hours before Granville turned up.
“‘Don’t you bother to stay,’ said Waterford. ‘I can look after him.’
“But I scouted the idea, and said nothing would induce me to go.
“‘Very well, then,’ said he; ‘we may as well get on with our writing.’
“So we pulled our chairs up to the table, with a full-view of Durfy in the corner, and tried to continue our lucubrations.
“But when you are sitting up at dead of night, with a prisoner in the corner of the room cursing and gnashing his teeth at you, it is not easy to grow eloquent either on the subject of ‘A Day in a Sub-sub-Editor’s Life,’ or ‘Early Rising.’ And so we found. We gave it up presently, and made up the fire and chatted together in a whisper.