"'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.
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