Frank sprang up and faced the intruder while Inza uttered a little cry, and retreated a bit. The sleeping invalid awoke, and stared at the newcomer in a bewildered way.
It was Mr. ’Arry ’Awkins, of Deptford. He had put aside his loud suit of Scotch plaids, and was plainly dressed in well-worn clothes. His face was cleanly shaved, but seemed to be somewhat flushed, as if he had been indulging freely in stimulating drinks.
“Mr. Merriwell, sir!” he said, removing his hat and bowing profoundly. “I thought as ’ow I were not mistooked; I were werry certain it were you I saw a-settin’ at the window.”
At first Frank was inclined to be decidedly angry, but he immediately remembered the great service Mr. ’Awkins had rendered him when he was in mysterious and possibly deadly danger at the Derby, and he held his anger in check, saying, sharply:
“You should not have forced yourself in here, sir. These are not my rooms, but I happen to be making a call here.”
The man from Deptford bowed most humbly.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, young sir,” he said, “I must say as ’ow I did not know of that. I ’opes yer will hexcuse me, governor and young miss. You see it is this here way, I didn’t know this were not young Mr. Merriwell’s room, and so I set myself to come, for all of the missus outside.”
“This is a most unwarranted intrusion!” came rather sharply from Mr. Burrage’s lips. “If you have pressing business——”
“Hexactly, sir—hexactly,” said Mr. ’Awkins, still more humbly. “My business is with young Mr. Merriwell. I will state it hat once, and make it werry short.”
“Do so,” urged Frank, who regretted that his tête-à-tête with Inza had been interrupted in such a manner.