With the letter in his hand, he went to the office.
'Mr.Dagworthy out ?' he asked of his fellow-clerk on looking round.
The clerk was a facetious youth.

He rose from his seat, seized a ruler, and began a species of sword-play about Hood's head, keeping up a grotesque dance the while.

Hood bore it with his wonted patience, smiling faintly.
'Mr.Dagworthy out ?' he repeated, as soon as he was free from apprehension of a chance crack on the crown.
'He is, my boy.

And what's more, there's a chance of your having a spree in Hebsworth.

Go down on your knees and pray that no telegram from Foot Brothers--I mean, Legge--arrives during the next five-and-twenty minutes.' 'Why ?' 'If not, you're to takee this notee to Brother Andrew Leggee,--comprenez?
The boss was going to send me, but he altered his mind, worse luck.' 'Twelve-thirteen ?' asked Hood.
'Yes.