"I'll tell that to your master," replied Mr. Banks blandly.
"He ain't at home."
"Not at home? Guess again, my good man."
"I tell ye, he ain't at home!"
"Not so fast," said the sportsman coolly, and with astonishing swiftness he advanced his heavily booted right foot, and thrust it across the threshold. The door nipped it instantly.
"It is not polite to slam doors in the faces of your master's friends," he said.
Then he threw all his weight against the door, flinging it wide open and hurling Timothy Fletcher against the wall.
"I don't like your manners," he said. "I intend to keep my eye on you. I give you fair warning, Timothy Fletcher."
The old fellow stood against the wall, breathing heavily, but in no wise abashed. He grinned sardonically.
"Warning?" he gasped. "Ye warn me! Chuck it!"