He was not a favourite debater in the public-house, being too quick and overbearing. He irritated the older men by his assertive manner, and his cocksureness. They listened in silence, and were not sorry when he finished.
Dawes interrupted the young man’s flow of eloquence by asking, in a loud sneer:
“Did you learn all that at th’ theatre th’ other night?”
Paul looked at him; their eyes met. Then he knew Dawes had seen him coming out of the theatre with Clara.
“Why, what about th’ theatre?” asked one of Paul’s associates, glad to get a dig at the young fellow, and sniffing something tasty.
“Oh, him in a bob-tailed evening suit, on the lardy-da!” sneered Dawes, jerking his head contemptuously at Paul.
“That’s comin’ it strong,” said the mutual friend. “Tart an’ all?”
“Tart, begod!” said Dawes.
“Go on; let’s have it!” cried the mutual friend.
“You’ve got it,” said Dawes, “an’ I reckon Morelly had it an’ all.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” said the mutual friend. “An’ was it a proper tart?”
“Tart, God blimey—yes!”
“How do you know?”
“Oh,” said Dawes, “I reckon he spent th’ night——”
There was a good deal of laughter at Paul’s expense.
“But who was she? D’you know her?” asked the mutual friend.
“I should shay sho,” said Dawes.
This brought another burst of laughter.
“Then spit it out,” said the mutual friend.
Dawes shook his head, and took a gulp of beer.
“It’s a wonder he hasn’t let on himself,” he said. “He’ll be braggin’ of it in a bit.”
“Come on, Paul,” said the friend; “it’s no good. You might just as well own up.”
“Own up what? That I happened to take a friend to the theatre?”
“Oh well, if it was all right, tell us who she was, lad,” said the friend.
“She was all right,” said Dawes.
Paul was furious. Dawes wiped his golden moustache with his fingers, sneering.
“Strike me—! One o’ that sort?” said the mutual friend.
