"Not another second!" cried Jan, all his premeditated niceties forgotten in that molecule of time. Mulberry sat up, blinking.
"I thought it was Mr. Devereux!"
"I know you did."
"Have you come instead of him?"
"Looks like it, doesn't it?"
"I don't know you! I won't have anything to do with you," exclaimed Mulberry, with a drunken dignity rendered the more grotesque by his difficulty in getting to his feet.
"Well, you certainly won't have anything more to do with Mr. Devereux," retorted Jan, only to add: "So I'm afraid you'll have to put up with me," in a much more conciliatory voice. He had just remembered his second thoughts on the way.
"Why? What's happened him?" asked Mulberry, suspiciously.
"Never you mind. He can't come; that's good enough. But I've come instead—to settle up with you."
"You have, have you?"
"On the spot. Once for all."
Jan slapped one of the pockets that could not be abolished in cricket trousers. It rang like a money-bag flung upon a counter. The reprobate looked impressed, but still suspicious about Evan.
"He was to come here yesterday, and he never did."
"It wasn't his fault; that's why I've come to-day."
"I said I'd go in and report him to Mr. Thrale, if he slipped me up twice."
"'Blab' was your word, Mulberry!"
"Have you seen what I wrote?"
"I happen to have got it in my pocket."
