Mr. Stokes grinned and, meeting a freezing glance from his friend, at once became serious again.
“Why not say it was you?” he said stoutly. “There's no harm in going for a 'bus-ride with a friend and a couple o' ladies.”
“O' course there ain't,” said the other, hotly, “else I shouldn't ha' done it. But you know what my wife is.”
Mr. Stokes, who was by no means a favorite of the lady in question, nodded. “You were a bit larky, too,” he said thoughtfully. “You 'ad quite a little slapping game after you pretended to steal her brooch.”
“I s'pose when a gentleman's with a lady he 'as got to make 'imself pleasant?” said Mr. Henshaw, with dignity. “Now, if my missis speaks to you about it, you say that it wasn't me, but a friend of yours up from the country who is as like me as two peas. See?”
“Name o' Dodd,” said Mr. Stokes, with a knowing nod. “Tommy Dodd.”
“I'm not playing the giddy goat,” said the other, bitterly, “and I'd thank you not to.”
“All right,” said Mr. Stokes, somewhat taken aback. “Any name you like; I don't mind.”
Mr. Henshaw pondered. “Any sensible name'll do,” he said, stiffly.
“Bell?” suggested Mr. Stokes. “Alfred Bell? I did know a man o' that name once. He tried to borrow a bob off of me.”