"
Kelson looked black. "I like the way some people have of taking things
for granted. Cheek, I call it. He had better wait or walk."
"The gentleman said he was in a hurry, sir," the porter observed
apologetically.
"No reason why he should squash us up in the fly," Kelson returned. "I'll
have a word with the gentleman. Where is he?"
"I think he is in the fly, sir."
"The devil he is! We'll have him out, Hugh. Infernally cool." And he
strode off towards the waiting fly.
"Better see what sort of chap he is before you go for him, Harry,"
Gifford said deprecatingly as he followed. He knew his masterful friend's
quick temper, and anticipated a row.
"If you don't mind, this is my fly, sir," Kelson was saying as Gifford
reached him.
"The porter told me it was the _Golden Lion_ conveyance," a strong,
deeply modulated voice replied from the fly.
"And I think he told you it was engaged," Kelson rejoined bluffly.
"I did not quite understand that," the voice of the occupant replied in
an even tone. "I am sorry if there has been any misunderstanding; but as
I am going to the hotel--"
"That is no reason why you should take our fly," Kelson retorted, his
temper rising at the other's coolness.
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