“Thank’ee, sir,” said the Boots, and away he went.
“What’s the matter?” cried Mr. Tupman, as a loud knocking at his door aroused him from his oblivious repose.
“Can I speak to Mr. Winkle, sir?” replied the Boots from the outside.
“Winkle—Winkle!” shouted Mr. Tupman, calling into the inner room.
“Hallo!” replied a faint voice from within the bed-clothes.
“You’re wanted—some one at the door—” and having exerted himself to articulate thus much, Mr. Tracy Tupman turned round and fell fast asleep again.
“Wanted!” said Mr. Winkle, hastily jumping out of bed, and putting on a few articles of clothing; “wanted! at this distance from town—who on earth can want me?”
“Gentleman in the coffee-room, sir,” replied the Boots, as Mr. Winkle opened the door and confronted him; “gentleman says he’ll not detain you a moment, sir, but he can take no denial.”
“Very odd!” said Mr. Winkle; “I’ll be down directly.”
He hurriedly wrapped himself in a travelling-shawl and dressing-gown, and proceeded down-stairs. An old woman and a couple of waiters were cleaning the coffee-room, and an officer in undress uniform was looking out of the window. He turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the head. Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the door very carefully, he said, “Mr. Winkle, I presume?”