“Now then, don’t mind me,” said James. “Give ’im a slobber, old tart.”
“Go on, Jimmie; you are a caution!”
“Oh, I see you re bashful Well, I’ll be toddling.”
“Won’t you have some tea before you go?” asked Basil.
“Bless you, I don’t want to disturb you canary birds. And I’m not much of an ’and at tea; I leave that to females. I like something stronger myself.”
“That’s Jimmie all over,” cried his sister, amused.
“I have some whisky, Mr. Bush,” said Basil, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, blow the Mister and blow the Bush. Call me Jimmie. I can’t stand ceremony. We’re both of us gentlemen. Now mind you, I’m not a feller to praise myself, but I will say this—I am a gentleman. That’s not self-praise, is it?”
“Dear me, no. Mere statement of fact.”
“It’s a thing you can’t ’elp, so what’s the good of being proud about it? If I meet a chap in a pub, and he wants to stand me a drink, I don’t ask ’im if he’s a lord.”