“What I can’t make out,” pursued his friend sarcastically, “is why you haven’t tried to smell the chaps out by means of Smiley. Now, if you let Smiley have a good sniff of that bit of rope on your watch-chain, and then turn him out into the square, he’d ferret them out for you.”
“I tell you what, old man, if it’s coming to a regular row between us two, hadn’t you better say so at once, and get done with it?”
“Who says anything about a row? All I say is, you’re in a precious good way of getting yourself kicked round the house, the way you’re going on; and I don’t much mind if I’m asked to lead off.”
“You’d better try to kick me, that’s all,” said Dig.
“I’ll see what I can do for you some day. But, I say, Dig, can’t you see what a howling ass you’re making of yourself?”
“No, I don’t know so much about asses as you do,” responded Dig.
“Daresay not. If you were in the company of one all day long, as I am, you’d soon throw it up. I tell you, my—”
Here the speaker suddenly broke off and looked affectionately at the troubled face of his old chum.
“Look here, Dig, old man, I don’t want to have a row with you, no more do you. I vote we don’t.”
“Hang a row,” said Dig. “But it seems to me, Arthur, you don’t care twopence whether the chap’s found out or not.”