Mr. Gubbs sat up in bed, and then with a mighty yawn rose, and, pushing open the casement again, gazed indignantly at the small publican, who was standing below keeping up an incessant rapping on the door with a small cane.
“Morning, Mr. Larkins, sir,” said Gubbs, sniffing at the cool morning air.
“Halloa!” said Larkins, looking up. “This won’t do, you know. You’re wasting time. You ought to be up and out by now.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Gubbs, leaning out and speaking in a low voice to defeat the intentions of Mrs. Gubbs, who was listening. “I dreamt I killed Tarbut, an’ it’s give me such a fright that I’ve resolved not to fight.”
“That’s all right,” said Larkins, briskly; “dreams always go by contraries.”
“Well there ain’t much comfort in that,” said Gubbs, who was anxious to get back to his warm bed, sharply.
“You dress and come down,” said the imperious Larkins. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself after all the trouble I’m taking on your behalf.”
Mr. Gubbs rubbed his eyes and pondered. “What’s the towel for?” he demanded, suspiciously.
“Rub you down with after you’ve bathed,” said the other.
“Bathed?” said Mr. Gubbs, with emphasis. “Bathed? What for?”