“Thank you kindly, sir,” said the man. “That was a mistake you made, sir.”
“Mistakes,” said Mr. Plumley, “will occur. Have some whisky, Robert?”
“You’re very good, sir.”
“You don’t like it too strong, I think, Robert? And how’s the world treating you, my friend?”
“Much as usual, sir. From hand to mouth’s my motto.”
“Sad, sad to be sure. They’ll distrain upon me, I suppose.”
“I’m afraid so, sir.”
“The inhumanity of the world, Robert! You do pretty reg’lar porter’s work for Bull and Hacker, the auctioneers, don’t you, Robert?”
“That’s so, Mr. Plumley,” said the man, wondering. “But the work’s heavier than the wages.”
“They’ll be commissioned to seize the necessary goods. I wish you’d manage to give ’em a hint, Robert—over the left, you know, without any reference to me—that there’s a picture I prize (and that I’ve reason to believe a dealer is after), what would more than pay the two pun odd of the distraint if put up first. O’ course, I can’t appear to favour the matter myself, being a con——”