"
The interest of the meeting seemed transferred to the young man
in the white tic. "Of course, if you can't find out which it is,
I suppose you're prepared to wipe your boots in a liberal way on
everybody in the room," said this young man, in the same tone of
impersonal question. "This gentleman, the champion lightweight--"
"Own up, Charlie," said the young man with the gaiters, looking
up for a moment. "And don't go a-dragging in your betters. It's
fair and square. You can't get out of it."
"Was it this--gent?" began Mr. Hoopdriver.
"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.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178