"Serve Sprott right. But what has all that to do with me?"
"Sir 'Umphry, sir, 'ave sent, sir"—the man could hardly bring himself to convey the message; "he 'ave sent, sir, to say he wishes to see you at once."
"Me? At this hour? Impossible!"
This pestilent Sir Humphrey was upsetting every tradition of the office.
Mr. Faulks again settled himself in his arm-chair, with the air of a man who refused to move—out of his proper groove.
"Mr. Faulks! Mr. Faulks!" Another unseemly intrusion. This time it was Sprott, the chief messenger, flurried and frightened, no doubt, by recent reproof. "Sir Humphrey's going on awful, sir; he's rung his bell three times, and asked how long it took you to go upstairs."
Sullenly, and sorely against his will, Mr. Faulks rose and joined his chief.
"I have asked for you several times," said Sir Humphrey Fothergill, a much younger man than Mr. Faulks, new to official life, but a promising party politician, with a great belief in himself and his importance as a member of the House of Commons; "you must have come late."
"Pardon me, I was here at my usual time; but in the thirty-five years that I have had the honour to serve in the Military Munition Department I never remember a Parliamentary chief who came so early as you."
"I shall come when I choose—in the middle of the night, if it suits me or is necessary, as is more than probable in these busy times."