“Certainly,” replied the shorter man; “and whatever Mr. Giles says, it isn’t our place to contradict him. No, no, I know my sitiwation! Thank my stars, I know my sitiwation.” To tell the truth, the little man did seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly well that it was by no means a desirable one; for his teeth chattered in his head as he spoke.
“You are afraid, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
“I an’t,” said Brittles.
“You are,” said Giles.
“You’re a falsehood, Mr. Giles,” said Brittles.
“You’re a lie, Brittles,” said Mr. Giles.
Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles’s taunt; and Mr. Giles’s taunt had arisen from his indignation at having the responsibility of going home again, imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment. The third man brought the dispute to a close, most philosophically.
“I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen,” said he, “we’re all afraid.”
“Speak for yourself, sir,” said Mr. Giles, who was the palest of the party.
“So I do,” replied the man. “It’s natural and proper to be afraid, under such circumstances. I am.”
“So am I,” said Brittles; “only there’s no call to tell a man he is, so bounceably.”
These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that he was afraid; upon which, they all three faced about, and ran back again with the completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the shortest