"'Scuse me, gents!" said the head, speaking hoarsely, and rolling
its eyes at them, "name o' Barrymaine,--vich on ye might that be, now?"
"Ha?" cried Mr. Smivvle angrily, "so you're here again, are you!"
"'Scuse me, gents!" said the head, blinking its round eyes at them,
"name o' Barrymaine,--no offence,--vich?"
"Come," said Mr. Smivvle, beginning to tug at his whiskers,--
"come, get out,--d'ye hear!"
"But, axing your pardons, gents,--vich on ye might be--name o'
Barrymaine?"
"What do you want with him--eh?" demanded Mr. Smivvle, his whiskers
growing momentarily more ferocious, "speak out, man!"
"Got a letter for 'im--leastways it's wrote to 'im," answered the
head, "'ere's a B, and a Nay, and a Nar, and another on 'em, and a
Vy,--that spells Barry, don't it? Then, arter that, comes a M., and
a--"
"Oh, all right,--give it me!" said Mr. Smivvle, rising.
"Are you name o' Barrymaine?"
"No, but you can leave it with me, and I--"
"Leave it?" repeated the head, in a slightly injured tone, "leave it?
axing your pardons, gents,--but burn my neck if I do! If you ain't
name o' Barrymaine v'y then--p'r'aps this is 'im a-coming upstairs
now,--and werry 'asty about it, too!" And, sure enough, hurried feet
were heard ascending; whereupon Mr. Smivvle uttered a startled
exclamation, and, motioning Barnabas to be seated in the dingiest
corner, strode quickly to the door, and thus came face to face with
Ronald Barrymaine upon the threshold.
"Why, Barry!" said he, standing so as to block Barrymaine's view of
the dingy corner, "so you've come back, then?"
"Come back, yes!" returned the other petulantly, "I had to,--mislaid
a letter, must have left it here, somewhere. Did you find it?"
"Axing your pardon, sir, but might you be name o' Barrymaine, no
offence, but might you?"
The shaggy head had slid quite into the room now, bringing after it
a short, thick-set person clad after the fashion of a bargeman.
"Yes; what do you want?"
"Might this 'ere be the letter as you come back for,--no offence,
but might it?"
"Yes! yes," cried Barrymaine, and, snatching it, he tore it fiercely
across and across, and made a gesture as if to fling the fragments
into the hearth, then thrust them into his pocket instead. "Here's a
shilling for you," said he, turning to the bargeman, "that is--Dig,
l-lend me a shilling, I--" Ronald Barrymaine's voice ended abruptly,
for he had caught sight of Barnabas sitting in the dingy corner, and
now, pushing past Smivvle, he stood staring, his handsome features
distorted with sudden fury, his teeth gleaming between his parted
lips.
"So it's--you, is it?" he demanded.
"Yes," said Barnabas, and stood up.
"So--you're--back again, are you?"