He would have liked to punch Reginald's head, or, better still, to have knocked Reginald's and Horace's heads together.

But he saw reasons for denying himself that pleasure, and fell back on the more ethereal weapons of his own wit.
"Hullo, puddin' 'ead," he began, "'ow's your pa and your ma to-day?
Find the Old Bailey a 'ealthy place, don't they ?" Reginald favoured the speaker by way of answer with a stare of mingled scorn and wrath, which greatly elevated that gentleman's spirits.
"'Ow long is it they've got?
Seven years, ain't it?
My eye, they won't know you when they come out, you'll be so growed." The wrath slowly faded from Reginald's face, as the speaker proceeded, leaving only the scorn to testify to the interest he took in this intellectual display.
Horace, delighted to see there was no prospect of a "flare-up," smiled, and began almost to enjoy himself.
"I say," continued Barber, just a little disappointed to find that his exquisite humour was not as electrical in its effect as it would have been on any one less dense than the Crudens, "'ow is it you ain't got a clean collar on to-day, and no scent on your 'andkerchers--eh ?" This was getting feeble.

Even Mr Barber felt it, for he continued, in a more lively tone,-- "Glad we ain't got many of your sickening sort 'ere; snivelling school- boy brats, that's what you are, tired of pickin' pockets, and think you're goin' to show us your manners.

Yah! if you wasn't such a dirty ugly pair of puppy dogs I'd stick you under the pump--so I would." Reginald yawned, and walked off to watch a compositor picking up type out of a case.

Horace, on the other hand, appeared to be deeply interested in Mr Barber's eloquent observations, and inquired quite artlessly, but with a twinkle in his eye,--"Is the pump near here?
I was looking for it everywhere yesterday." It was Mr Barber's turn to stare.