“Langwidge?” snorted the Old Un.  “Why, I ain’t begun yet, you blinkin’, fat-faced, owl-eyed piece o’ sooet—­”

“Your speech, sir,” continued Mr. Brimberly with calm austerity and making the most of whiskers and waistcoat, “your speech is redolent of slums and back halleys.  I don’t know you.  I don’t want to know you!  You are a feller!  Go away, feller!”

“Feller?” snarled the Old Un, “why you—­”

“I repeat,” said Mr. Brimberly with dignified deliberation, “I repeat as you are a very low, vulgar little feller!”

The Old Un clenched his fists.

“Right-o!” he nodded cheerily.  “That’s done it!  F’ that I’m a-goin’ t’ punch ye in th’ perishin’ eye-’ole!” And he advanced upon the points of his toes, shoulders hunched, and head viciously outthrust.

“My word!” exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating rather precipitately, “this is very discomposing, this is!  I shall have to call the perlice.”

“Perlice!” snarled the Old Un, fiercer than ever, “you won’t have nothing t’ call with when I’ve done wi’ ye.  I’m goin’ t’ jab ye on th’ beak t’ begin with, then I’ll ‘ook my left t’ your kidneys an’ swing my right to your p’int an’ crumple ye up with a jolt on your perishin’ solar plexus as ‘ll stiffen you till th’ day o’ doom!”

“’Oly angels!” murmured Mr. Brimberly, glancing hastily about.

“Then while you lay bathed in ‘orrible gore, I’m goin’ t’ twist them whiskers into a ’angman’s knot!”

“This is most distressing!” sighed Mr. Brimberly.

“Then,” continued the Old Un, grinding his remaining teeth, “I’m a-goin’ t’ tread your face in an’ dance on y’r blighted stummick.  Arter that—­”

“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed Mr. Brimberly, retreating before the oncoming peril and mopping perspiring brow.  But suddenly his wandering eye was arrested by velvet and gold braid, and lifting up his voice he called: 

“William!  James!  Come ’ere—­and come sharp!”

Two vast and splendid shapes loomed upon the scene, supermen whose silken calves quivered with unaccustomed haste; at a sign from Mr. Brimberly they seized upon the Old Un and, despite ghoulish threats, solemnly bore him off.

Down the broad sweep of drive they went, the Old Un pouring forth fluent curses with every step, until they came to a powerful automobile from beneath which a pair of neatly gaitered legs protruded.

“Joe!” cried the Old Un, apostrophising these legs, “Joe, stop bein’ a crawlin’ worm—­come out an’ bash these perishers for me, like a good lad!” But even while he spoke, the footmen hauled him along, so that when Joe eventually wriggled from under the car the three were close against the great gates.

The Old Un was earnestly explaining to his captors exactly what he thought of them, of their fathers and mothers, their kith and kin, and the supermen were heeding him not the least, when a thunderbolt seemed to smite them asunder, and Joe was glancing mild-eyed from one splendid, supine form to the other.