He tottered back and sank on to a sofa.
'Are you here to look after him?' asked Charles of Mr. Lott, crossing his
legs and nodding towards the sufferer. 'If so, I advise you to take him
away before he does himself harm. You're a _lot_ bigger than he is and
perhaps have more sense.'
The timber-merchant stood with legs slightly apart, holding his stick and
the riding-whip horizontally with both hands. His eyes were fixed upon
young Mr. Daffy, and his lips moved in rather an ominous way; but he made
no reply to Charles's smiling remark.
'Mr. Lott,' said the tailor, in a voice still broken by pants and coughs,
'will you speak or me? Will you say what you think of him?'
'You'll have to be quick about it,' interposed Charles, with a glance at
his watch. 'I can give you five minutes; you can say a _lot_ in that time,
if you're sound of wind.'
The timber-merchant's eyes were very wide, and his cheeks unusually red.
Abruptly he turned to Mr. Daffy.
'Do you know _my_ idea?'
But just as he spoke there sounded a knock at the door, and the smart
maidservant cried out that a gentleman wished to see her master.
'Who is it?' asked Charles.
The answer came from the visitor himself, who, pushing the servant aside,
broke into the room.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350