At Port Stowe
hands. "I been talking here this ten minutes," he said; "and you, you little pot-bellied, leathery-faced son of an old boot, could n't have the elementary manners—"
"Don't you come bandying words with me," said Mr. Marvel.
"Bandying words! I 'm a jolly good mind—"
"Come up," said a voice, and Mr. Marvel was suddenly whirled about and started marching off in a curious spasmodic manner. "You'd better move on," said the Mariner. "Who's moving on?" said Mr. Marvel. He was receding obliquely with a curious hurrying gait, with occasional violent jerks forward. Some way along the road he began a muttered monologue, protests and recriminations.
"Silly devil!" said the Mariner, legs wide apart, elbows akimbo, watching the receding figure. "I 'll show you, you silly ass,—hoaxing me! It 's here—on the paper!"
Mr. Marvel retorted incoherently and, receding, was hidden by a bend in the road, but the Mariner still stood magnificent in the midst of the way, until the approach of a butcher's cart dislodged him. Then he turned himself towards
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