“Not at present!”
“Then what the devil do you mean,” demanded the other hotly, “by forcing your way into the room of two professional men? What—”
“Yes,” said the man at the other glass, taking up a hand-mirror to examine the back of his head, “what the deuce next, I wonder? For two pins I’d take him by the scruff of his neck and pitch him downstairs.” He glanced at Erb, and added rather hastily to Mr. Railton: “If I were you.”
“I shall most certainly complain to the management,” went on Mr. Railton. “It isn’t the first time.”
“I don’t know,” said his companion, “what they think the profession’s made of. Because we allow ourselves to be treated like a flock of sheep they seem to think they can do just what they damn well please.”
“I’ve a precious good mind,” said Mr. Railton, vehemently, “to hand in my notice. Would, too, if it wasn’t for the sake of the rest of the crowd.”
He ceased for a second, whilst he made lines down either side of his mouth, falling back from the mirror to consider the effect.
“Quite finished?” asked Erb, good humouredly. “If so, I should like to tell you, my fiery-tempered warriors, that I have only called with a message from Miss Danks—Miss Rosalind Danks.”
“That’s one of yours, Lorrie!”
“You mean,” said Mr. Railton casually, as he toned down a line with the powder-puff, “a dot and carry one girl?”