The day after the dinner at the “Regent Club,” Mr. Walker stepped over to the shop of his friend the perfumer, where, as usual, the young man, Mr. Mossrose, was established in the front premises.
For some reason or other, the Captain was particularly good-humoured; and, quite forgetful of the words which had passed between him and Mr. Eglantine's lieutenant the day before, began addressing the latter with extreme cordiality.
“A good morning to you, Mr. Mossrose,” said Captain Walker. “Why, sir, you look as fresh as your namesake—you do, indeed, now, Mossrose.”
“You look ash yellow ash a guinea,” responded Mr. Mossrose, sulkily. He thought the Captain was hoaxing him.
“My good sir,” replies the other, nothing cast down, “I drank rather too freely last night.”
“The more beast you!” said Mr. Mossrose.
“Thank you, Mossrose; the same to you,” answered the Captain.
“If you call me a beast, I'll punch your head off!” answered the young man, who had much skill in the art which many of his brethren practise.
“I didn't, my fine fellow,” replied Walker. “On the contrary, you—”
“Do you mean to give me the lie?” broke out the indignant Mossrose, who hated the agent fiercely, and did not in the least care to conceal his hate.