He found Partridge in his arm-chair, scowling at him over the newspaper.
"Might I ask 'oo you are ?" he growled.
"Me name's Fowles--Arthur Fowles," replied Chook, picking a seat near the door and smoothing a crease in his hat.
"Ah! that's all I wanted to know," growled Partridge.

"Now yer can go." "Me?
No fear!" cried Chook, affecting surprise.

"Yer missis gave me an invite ter tea, an' 'ere I am.

Besides, I ain't such a stranger as I look; I 'elped move yer furniture in." "An' yer shove yer way into my 'ouse on the strength of wot a pack o' silly women said ter yer ?" "I did," admitted Chook.
"Now you take my advice, an' git out before I break every bone in yer body." Chook stared at him with an unnatural stolidity for fear he should spoil everything by grinning.
"Well, wot are yer starin' at ?" inquired Partridge, with irritation.
"I was wonderin' 'ow yer'd look on the end of a rope," replied Chook, quietly.
"Me on the end of a rope ?" cried Partridge in amazement.
"Yes.

They said yous 'ud stiffen me if I cum in, an' 'ere I am." "An' yet you 'ad the cheek ?" "Yes," said Chook; "I niver take no notice o' wot women say." Partridge glared at him as if meditating a spring, and then, with a rapid jerk, turned his back on Chook and buried his nose in the newspaper.