"And so," said Paul, "you want to hold me back a little longer--because it's so funny; and then, when you're quite tired of your sport, you'll go up and tell the Doctor my--my unhappy story yourself, eh? No, my friend; I'd rather not tell him myself--but I'll be shot if I let _you_ have a finger in it. I know my own interests better than that!" "Don't get in a passion, Dickie," said Chawner; "it's Sunday. You'll have to let me go up instead of you--when I've frightened them a little more." "Who do you mean by them, sir?" said Paul, growing puzzled. "As if you didn't know! Oh, you're too clever for me, Dickie, I can see," sniggered Chawner. "I tell you I don't know!" said Mr. Bultitude. "Look here, Chawner--your confounded name is Chawner, isn't it?--there's a mistake somewhere, I'm sure of it. Listen to me. I'm not going to tell the Doctor what you think I am!" "What do I think you are going to tell him?" "I haven't the slightest idea; but, whatever it is, you're wrong." "Ah, you're too clever, Dickie; you won't betray yourself; but other people want to pay Coker and Tipping out as well as you, and I say you must wait." "I shan't say anything to affect anyone but myself," said Paul; "if you know all about it, you must know that--it won't interfere with your amusement that I can see." "Yes, it will," said Chawner irritably, "it will--you mayn't mean to tell of anyone but yourself; but directly Grimstone asks you questions, it all comes out. I know all about it. And, anyway, I forbid you to go up till I give you leave." "And who the dooce are you?" said Mr. Bultitude, nettled at this assumption of authority. "How are you going to prevent me, may I ask?" "S'sh! here's the Doctor," whispered Chawner hurriedly. "I'll tell you after tea. What am I doing out of my place, sir? Oh, I was only asking Bultitude what was the collect for to-day, sir. Fourth Sunday after the Epiphany? thank you, Bultitude." And he glided back to his seat, leaving Paul in a state of vague uneasiness. Why did this fellow, with the infernal sly face and glib tongue, want to prevent him from righting himself with the world, and how could he possibly prevent him? It was absurd; he would take no notice of the young scoundrel--he would defy him. But he could not banish the uneasy feeling; the cup had slipped so many times before at the critical moment that he could not be sure whose hand would be the next to jog his elbow. And so he went down to tea with renewed misgivings. 12. _Against Time_ "There is a kind of Followers likewise, which are dangerous, being indeed Espials; which enquire the Secrets of the House and beare Tales of them."--BACON. "Then give me leave that I may turn the key, That no man enter till my tale be done."