It's what doesn't go down." "And how much is that ?" she asked, eying him.
"A good bit, maybe," he said.
"Slops over, so to speak," she retorted sarcastically.

"And which do you enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the lap of Mother Earth--of Miss, more probably!" "Depends," he said.
Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left him to get off by himself.
So he found London got on his nerves.

He felt it rubbed him the wrong way.

He was flattered, of course, by his own success--and felt at the same time irritated by it.

This state of mind was by no means acceptable.