"I didn't get in myself until two o'clock and feel like a boiled
owl. May have caught a little cold, but I think it was that
champagne of Duckworth's; always gives me a headache. Don't put
any sugar and cream in that coffee, Parkins--want it straight."
"Yes, sir," replied the flunky, moving toward the sideboard.
"And now, Jack, what did you do?" he continued, picking up his
napkin. "You and Garry made a night of it, didn't you? Some kind
of an artist's bat, wasn't it?"
"No, sir; Mr. Morris gave a dinner to his clerks, and--"
"Who's Morris?"
"Why, the great architect."
"Oh, that fellow! Yes, I know him, that is, I know who he is. Say
the rest. Parkins! didn't I tell you I didn't want any sugar or
cream."
Parkins hadn't offered any. He had only forgotten to remove them
from the tray.
Jack kept straight on; these differences between the master and
Parkins were of daily occurrence.
"And, Uncle Arthur, I met the most wonderful gentleman I ever saw;
he looked just as if he had stepped out of an old frame, and yet
he is down in the Street every day and--"
"What firm?"
"No firm, he is--"
"Curbstone man, then?" Here Breen lifted the cup to his lips and
as quickly put it down.
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