“I s’pose,” said the boy porter respectfully, “it wouldn’t do to put him in the lamp room?”
“Chaps,” said the foreman, “my idea is we’d better, I think, put him in the lamp room. Get Porter Swan to lend you the keys, my lad. As for you, you scoundrel—”
“If you so much as dare to lock me up there I’ll see that you regret it every day of your lives.” He argued vehemently.
“Look ’ere, me man,” said the boy porter, returning with the keys, “we want none of your empty threats. If you think we’re going to be bluffed by a chap of your calibre—”
“My what?” shouted the indignant man, struggling to get at the lad.
“Go on, my child,” said the foreman approvingly. “Let him have some of your long ones.” The foreman turned to the others.
“This is where your school teaching comes in ’andy,” he whispered.
“A chap of your calibre,” repeated the boy porter, encouraged; “you’re labouring under the very worst misapprehension—”
“Good!” said the others.
“Worst misapprehension that you ever suffered from or endured or tolerated or submitted to or underwent or—”