“I couldn’t help it, you know,” he said; “and I gave him a bit of my mind after you’d gone.”
“Indeed,” I answered good-humouredly; “that was what you couldn’t well afford, and it was generous of you.”
He was blankly impervious to the sarcasm. Had it been otherwise, my new-fledged doubts had perhaps fluttered to the ground. After a moment I saw him pull a paper from his pocket.
“Look here,” he said, vainly trying to suppress some emotion, which was compound, in suggestion, of elation and terror. “You’ve made your little joke, haven’t you, over all those other people forgettin’ to put their addresses? Well, what do you think of that for the Prime Minister?”
I took from his hand a sheet of large official-looking paper, and read—
Dear Sir,—You may have heard of my book, “The Foundations of Assent.” If so, you will perhaps be interested to learn that I am contemplating a complete revision of its text in the light of your “Love-Letters.” They are plainly illuminating. From being a man of no assured opinions, I have become converted, through their medium, to a firm belief in the importance of the Nonconformist suffrage. Permit me the honour, waiving the Premier, to shake by the hand as fellow-scribe the author of that incomparable series. I shall do myself the pleasure to call upon you at your rooms at nine o’clock this evening, when I have a little communication to make which I hope will not be unpleasing to you. Permit me to subscribe myself, with the profoundest admiration, your obedient servant,
J. A. Burleigh.
“Well,” I murmured, feeling suffocated, “there’s no address here either.”
“No,” he answered; “but, I say, it’s rather crushing. Won’t you come and help me out with it?”
“What do you want me for?” I protested. “I’ve no wish to be annihilated in the impact between two great minds. You aren’t afraid?”
“O, no!” he said, perspiring. “It’ll be just a shake, and ‘So glad,’ and ‘Thanks, awfully,’ I suppose, and nothing more to speak of. But you might just as well come, on the chance of helping me out of a tight place. It’s viva voce, don’tcherknow—not like writin’, with all your wits about you. And I shall get some other fellows there, too, so’s we aren’t allowed to grow too intimate; and you might as well.”