“You ought to 'tip' that flunkey, Beecher,” said Davis, as soon as they were alone in a window.
“Haven't the tin, Master Grog!” said the other, laughing; while he added, in a lower voice, “Do you know, Grog, I don't feel quite comfortable here. Rather mixed company, ain't it, for a fellow who only goes out of a Sunday?”
“All safe,” muttered Davis. “These all are bank directors or railway swells. I wish we had the robbing of them!”
“Good deal of humbug about all this, ain't there?” whispered Beecher, as he threw his eyes over the crowded room.
“Of course there is,” replied the other. “While he's keeping us all kicking our shins here, he's reading the 'Times,' or gossiping with a friend, or weighing a double letter for the post. It was the dentists took up the dodge first, and the nobs followed them.”
“I 'm not going to stand it much longer, Grog. I tell you I don't feel comfortable.”
“Stuff and nonsense! You don't fancy any of these chaps has a writ in his pocket, do you? Why, I can tell you every man in the room. That little fellow, with the punch-colored shorts, is chairman of the Royal Canal Company. I know him, and he knows me. He had me 'up' about a roulette-table on board of one of the boats, and if it had n't been for a trifling incident that occurred to his wife at Boulogne, where she went for the bathing, and which I broke to him in confidence—But stay, he's coming over to speak to me.”
“How d'ye do, Captain Davis?” said the stranger, with the air of a man resolved to brave a difficulty, while he threw into the manner a tone of haughty patronage.
“Pretty bobbish, Mr. Hailes; and you, the same I hope.”
“Well, thank you. You never paid me that little visit you promised at Leixlip.”