Then he turned, in obedience to a passionate tug at his coat sleeve from Mr.Kybird.
"Wot 'ave you got to say for yourself ?" demanded that injured person, in tones of suppressed passion.

"Wot do you mean by it?
You've made a pretty mess of it with your cleverness." "Wonderful old gentleman, ain't he ?" said the discomfited Mr.Smith.
"Fancy 'im getting the better o' me.

Fancy me being 'ad.

I took it all in as innercent as you please." "Ah, you're a clever fellow, you are," said Mr.Kybird, bitterly.
"'Ere's Amelia lost young Nugent and 'is five 'undred all through you.
It's a got-up thing between old Swann and the Nugent lot, that's wot it is." "Looks like it," admitted Mr.Smith; "but fancy 'is picking me out for 'is games.

That's wot gets over me." "Wot about all that money I paid for the license ?" demanded Mr.Kybird, in a threatening manner.