"I am grateful, Wisden—very grateful."
"You're not! You're a dissatisfied hound who deserves no pity or consideration. I do my best and shelter you, and all you do in return is to grumble."
"Oh! but you don't know how lonely it is up there. I sit all day alone."
"And sleep your hours away! Look at me, trudging about all day long for next to nothing. True, I have freedom, but there's no charge against me as there is against you."
"No!" cried the man Lionel in his squeaky voice. "But there may be one day, remember! There may be!"
"Don't be a fool!" snapped Boyne. "Get back to your den, and lie low."
"I shan't!"
"What—you defy me—eh?"
"Yes. I know you—who you are!" shouted the mysterious man. "You're not Wisden. Your voice is not his!"
"Infernal idiot! So you've got another attack coming on, have you! Come, get up," for he had sunk into a chair again. Pulling him up, he shook him roughly by the shoulder, saying: "Get up, and come along."