"How dare you prevent that lady passing?" said Phipps.
Mr. Hoopdriver looked obstinate, and, to Dangle's sense,
dangerous, but he made no answer. A waiter in full bloom appeared
at the end of the passage, guardant. "It is men of your stamp,
sir," said Phipps, "who discredit manhood."
Mr. Hoopdriver thrust his hands into his pockets. "Who the juice
are you?" shouted Mr. Hoopdriver, fiercely.
"Who are YOU, sir?" retorted Phipps. "Who are you? That's the
question. What are YOU, and what are you doing, wandering at
large with a young lady under age?"
"Don't speak to him," said Dangle.
"I'm not a-going to tell all my secrets to any one who comes at
me," said Hoopdriver. "Not Likely." And added fiercely, "And that
I tell you, sir."
He and Phipps stood, legs apart and both looking exceedingly
fierce at one another, and Heaven alone knows what might not have
happened, if the long clergyman had not appeared in the doorway,
heated but deliberate. "Petticoated anachronism," said the long
clergyman in the doorway, apparently still suffering from the
antiquated prejudice that demanded a third wheel and a black coat
from a clerical rider. He looked at Phipps and Hoopdriver for a
moment, then extending his hand towards the latter, he waved it
up and down three times, saying, "Tchak, tchak, tchak," very
deliberately as he did so. Then with a concluding "Ugh!" and a
gesture of repugnance he passed on into the dining-room from
which the voice of Miss Mergle was distinctly audible remarking
that the weather was extremely hot even for the time of year.
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