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"Wodyer want to sit on my bag for then?" said Albert disagreeably. They argued the point. Argument in no wise interfered with Albert's power of mastication. The odour of aniseed became more and more painful. Ukridge had lighted a cigar, and I understood why Mrs. Ukridge preferred to travel in another compartment, for "In his hand he bore the brand Which none but he might smoke."
The door was opened to him, not by the old man with whom he had exchanged amenities on the previous night, but by a short, thick fellow, who looked exactly like a picture of a loafer from the pages of a comic journal. He eyed Fenn with what might have been meant for an inquiring look. To Fenn it seemed merely menacing. "Wodyer want?" he asked, abruptly.
Is this a home for old gentlemen? If you'll bring out all you've got, I'll find my one." "Wodyer want see the old gentleman for?" "To ask for my cap. I left it here last night." "Oh, yer left it 'ere last night! Well, yer cawn't see 'im." "Not from here, no," agreed Fenn. "Being only eyes, you see," he quoted happily, "my wision's limited. But if you wouldn't mind moving out of the way "
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