you've been told! Well, well! Manners, manners!"

"I don't know," said Mr. Pidgen (his mouth was full). "I said it first,
and I'm older than he is. I should know better.... I like boys to be
greedy, it's a good sign--a good sign. Besides. Sunday--after a
sermon--one naturally feels a bit peckish. Good enough sermon, Lasher,
but a bit long."

Mr. Lasher of course did not like this, and, indeed, it was evident to
any one (even to a small boy) that the two gentlemen would have
different opinions upon every possible subject. However, Hugh loved Mr.
Pidgen there and then, and decided that he would put him into the story
then running (appearing in nightly numbers from the moment of his
departure to bed to the instant of slumber--say ten minutes); he would
also, in the imaginary cricket matches that he worked out on paper, give
Mr. Pidgen an innings of two hundred not out and make him captain of
Kent. He now observed the vision very carefully and discovered several
strange items in his general behaviour. Mr. Pidgen was fond of whistling
and humming to himself; he was restless and would walk up and down a
room with his head in the air and his hands behind his broad back,
humming (out of tune) "Sally in our Alley," or "Drink to me only." Of
course this amazed Mr. Lasher.

He would quite suddenly stop, stand like a top spinning, balanced on his
toes, and cry, "Ah! Now I've got it! No, I haven't! Yes, I have. By God,
it's gone again!"

To this also Mr. Lasher strongly objected, and Hugh heard him say,
"Really, Pidgen, think of the boy! Think of the boy!" and Mr. Pidgen
exclaimed, "By God, so I should!... Beg pardon, Lasher! Won't do it