No
wonder I had seemed to recognise his voice. Though we only saw each other
by chance at long intervals, Pomfret and I were old acquaintances.
'Hallo!' he roared out, 'I didn't know you knew Mr. Christopherson.'
'I'm just as much surprised to find that _you_ know him!' was my reply.
The old book-lover gazed at us in nervous astonishment, then shook hands
with the newcomer, who greeted him bluffly, yet respectfully. Pomfret spoke
with a strong Yorkshire accent, and had all the angularity of demeanour
which marks the typical Yorkshireman. He came to announce that everything
had been settled for the packing and transporting of Mr. Christopherson's
library; it remained only to decide the day.
'There's no hurry,' exclaimed Christopherson. 'There's really no hurry. I'm
greatly obliged to you, Mr. Pomfret, for all the trouble you are taking.
We'll settle the date in a day or two--a day or two.'
With a good-humoured nod Pomfret moved to take his leave. Our eyes met; we
left the house together. Out in the street again I took a deep breath of
the summer air, which seemed sweet as in a meadow after that stifling room.
My companion evidently had a like sensation, for he looked up to the sky
and broadened out his shoulders.
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