Send some one at once to sweep it out; this lad doesn't know how to hold a broom.

Take care it's done by four o'clock, and ready for use.

Pheugh! it's enough to choke one." And the manager went off in a rage, coughing.
Satisfactory as this was, in a certain sense, for Reginald, it was not a flattering way of ending his difficulties, nor did the spirit in which Mr Durfy accepted his chief's reprimand at all tend to restore him to cheerfulness.
"Bah, you miserable idiot, you! Give up that broom, and get out of this, or I'll chuck you out." "I don't think you will," said Reginald, coolly dropping the broom and facing his enemy.
He was happier at that moment than he had been for a long time.

He could imagine himself back at Wilderham, with the school bully shouting at him, and his spirits rose within him accordingly.
"What do you say?
you hugger-mugger puppy you--you--" Mr Durfy's adjectives frequently had the merit of being more forcible than appropriate, and on the present occasion, what with the dust and his own rage, the one he wanted stuck in his throat altogether.
"I said I don't think you will," repeated Reginald.
Mr Durfy looked at his man and hesitated.

Reginald stood five foot nine, and his shoulders were square and broad, besides, he was as cool as a cucumber, and didn't even trouble to take his hands out of his pockets.