It was, in fact, a patient. The servant, having asked Mr Cowlishaw if Mr Cowlishaw was at liberty, introduced the patient to the Presence, and the Presence trembled.
The patient was a tall, stiff, fair man of about thirty, with a tousled head and inelegant but durable clothing. He had a drooping moustache, which prevented Mr Cowlishaw from adding his teeth up instantly.
"Good afternoon, mister," said the patient, abruptly.
"Good afternoon," said Mr Cowlishaw. "Have you ... Can I ..."
Strange; in the dental hospital and school there had been no course of study in the art of pattering to patients!
"It's like this," said the patient, putting his hand in his waistcoat pocket.
"Will you kindly sit down," said Mr Cowlishaw, turning up the gas, and pointing to the chair of chairs.
"It's like this," repeated the patient, doggedly. "You see these three teeth?"
He displayed three very real teeth in a piece of reddened paper. As a spectacle, they were decidedly not appetizing, but Mr Cowlishaw was hardened.
"Really!" said Mr Cowlishaw, impartially, gazing on them.