"Upon my word, that is serious," said Mr Butterwell, looking into the
secretary's damaged face. "I don't think I would have come out if I
had been you."
"Of course it's disagreeable," said Crosbie; "but it's better to put
up with it. Fellows do tell such horrid lies if a man isn't seen for
a day or two. I believe it's best to put a good face upon it."
"That's more than you can do just at present, eh, Crosbie?" And then
Mr Butterwell tittered. "But how on earth did it happen? The paper
says that you pretty well killed the fellow who did it."
"The paper lies, as papers always do. I didn't touch him at all."
"Didn't you, though? I should like to have had a poke at him after
getting such a tap in the face as that."
"The policemen came, and all that sort of thing. One isn't allowed
to fight it out in a row of that kind as one would have to do on
Salisbury heath. Not that I mean to say that I could lick the fellow.
How's a man to know whether he can or not?"
"How, indeed, unless he gets a licking,--or gives it? But who was he,
and what's this about his having been scorned by the noble family?"
"Trash and lies, of course.
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