He sniffed.
"The hother door, me good feller!" he repeated, relentless but
dignified, "and ring only, _if_ you pl--"
The word was frozen upon his horrified lip, for Timbertoes had
actually set his blue-clad shoulder to the door, and now, bending
his brawny back, positively began to heave at it with might and main,
cheering and encouraging himself meanwhile with sundry nautical
"yo ho's." And all this in broad daylight! In St. James's Square!
Whereupon ensued the following colloquy:
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (pushing from within. Shocked and amazed).
"Wot's this? Stop it! Get out now, d'ye hear!"
_Timbertoes_ (pushing from without. In high good humor). "With a ho,
my hearties, and a merrily heave O!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (struggling almost manfully, though legs
highly agitated). "I--I'll give you in c-charge! I'll--"
_Timbertoes_ (encouraging an imaginary crew). "Cheerily! Cheerily!
heave yo ho!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (losing ground rapidly. Condition of legs
indescribable). "I never--see nothing--like this here! I'll--"
_Timbertoes_ (all shoulders, whiskers and pig-tail). "With a heave and
a ho, and up she rises O!"
_The Gentleman-in-Powder_ (extricating his ruffled dignity from
between wall and door).
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