Part 30

“Of course,” said the young man in the white tie, “when it comes to talking of wiping boots—”

“I’m not talking; I’m going to do it,” said Mr. Hoopdriver.

He looked round at the meeting. They were no longer antagonists; they were spectators. He would have to go through with it now. But this tone of personal aggression on the maker of the remark had somehow got rid of the oppressive feeling of Hoopdriver contra mundum. Apparently, he would have to fight someone. Would he get a black eye? Would he get very much hurt? Pray goodness it wasn’t that sturdy chap in the gaiters! Should he rise and begin? What would she think if he brought a black eye to breakfast to-morrow? “Is this the man?” said Mr. Hoopdriver, with a business-like calm, and arms more angular than ever.

“Eat ’im!” said the little man with the beard; “eat ’im straight orf.”

“Steady on!” said the young man in the white tie. “Steady on a minute. If I did happen to say—”

“You did, did you?” said Mr. Hoopdriver.

“Backing out of it, Charlie?” said the young man with the gaiters.

“Not a bit,” said Charlie. “Surely we can pass a bit of a joke—”

“I’m going to teach you to keep your jokes to yourself,” said Mr. Hoopdriver.

“Bray-vo!” said the shepherd of the flock of chins.

“Charlie is a bit too free with his jokes,” said the little man with the beard.

“It’s downright disgusting,” said Hoopdriver, falling back upon his speech. “A lady can’t ride a bicycle in a country road, or wear a dress a little out of the ordinary, but every dirty little greaser must needs go shouting insults—”

“I didn’t know the young lady would hear what I said,” said Charlie. “Surely one can speak friendly to one’s friends. How was I to know the door was open—”

Hoopdriver began to suspect that his antagonist was, if possible, more seriously alarmed at the prospect of violence than himself, and his spirits rose again. These chaps ought to have a thorough lesson. “Of course you knew the door was open,” he retorted indignantly. “Of course you thought we should hear what you said. Don’t go telling lies about it. It’s no good your saying things like that. You’ve had your fun, and you meant to have your fun. And I mean to make an example of you, Sir.”

“Ginger beer,” said the little man with the beard, in a confidential tone to the velveteen jacket, “is regular up this ’ot weather. Bustin’ its bottles it is everywhere.”

“What’s the good of scrapping about in a public-house?” said Charlie, appealing to the company. “A fair fight without interruptions, now, I wouldn’t mind, if the gentleman’s so disposed.”

Evidently the man was horribly afraid. Mr. Hoopdriver grew truculent.

“Where you like,” said Mr. Hoopdriver, “jest wherever you like.”

“You insulted the gent,” said the man in velveteen.

“Don’t be a bloomin’ funk, Charlie,” said the man in gaiters. “Why, you got a stone of him, if you got an ounce.”

“What I say, is this,” said the gentleman with the excessive chins, trying to get a hearing by banging his chair arms. “If Charlie goes saying things, he ought to back ’em up. That’s what I say. I don’t mind his sayin’ such things ’t all, but he ought to be prepared to back ’em up.”

“I’ll back ’em up all right,” said Charlie, with extremely bitter emphasis on ‘back.’ “If the gentleman likes to come Toosday week—”

“Rot!” chopped in Hoopdriver. “Now.”

“’Ear, ’ear,” said the owner of the chins.

“Never put off till to-morrow, Charlie, what you can do to-day,” said the man in the velveteen coat.

“You got to do it, Charlie,” said the man in gaiters. “It’s no good.”

“It’s like this,” said Charlie, appealing to everyone except Hoopdriver. “Here’s me, got to take in her ladyship’s dinner to-morrow night. How should I look with a black eye? And going round with the carriage with a split lip?”

“If you don’t want your face sp’iled, Charlie, why don’t you keep your mouth shut?” said the person in gaiters.