“Well, you are very polite, Hamble. (Puffing away at his cigar in the most imperturbable manner possible.) Saint told me so in his own store not a minute ago. (Knocking off the gray ashy tip of his cigar with his little finger.) However, it is a secret. Don’t say to Saint that I told you, for he’ll be angry with me.”
“Not I. I shant probably think of it again.”
Down goes Belldong, not half satisfied yet, to Claypole’s store.
“Hellow, Claypole! how goes it with you this beautiful summer’s morning? Heigho! I’m so confounded sleepy, I can hardly see.”
“What’s the matter now, Squire?”
“Why I was kept awake nearly all night, last night, by that infernal dog of John P.’s. By the way, have you heard the news?”
“No! what is it?”
“Saint John shot that devilish dog last night.”
“N-o! you don’t say so!”
“Yes, but I do say so, and know so too.” (Very positively, at the same time throwing away the stump of his cigar.)