But the urchin had taken to his heels.

With an angry sigh Sam let circumstance decide for him, and returned to the reading-room.
No doubt the consciousness that pique had just betrayed his judgment made him the more inclined to quarrel with the poet.

But assuredly the sight that met his eyes caused his blood to boil; for Mr.
Moggridge was calmly in possession of the chair and newspaper which Sam had but a moment since resigned.
"Excuse me, but that is my chair and my paper." "Eh ?" The poet looked up sweetly.

"Surely, the Club chair and the Club paper--" "I have but this moment left them." "By a singular coincidence, I have but this moment taken possession of them." "Give them up, sir." "I shall do nothing of the kind, sir." At this point Sam was seized with the unlucky inspiration of quoting from Mr.Moggridge's published works: "Forbid the flood to wet thy feet, Or bind its wrath in chains; But never seek to quench the heat That fires a poet's veins!" This stanza, delivered with nice attention to its author's drawing-room manner, was too much.
"Sir, you are no gentleman!" "You seem," retorted Sam, "to be an authority on manners as well as on Customs.

I won't repeat your charge; but I'll be dashed if you're a poet!" My Muse is in a very pretty pass.