“Well, sir,” said the man, with a sort of unwillingness in his manner, “he said as much as that he was n't coming; that he had just dined, and meant to enjoy himself without business for a while.”
“Go back and tell him that Mr. Stocmar has something very important to tell him; that five minutes will be enough.—You see the stuff he's made of?” said the manager, as the man left the room.
Another, and nearly as long a delay ensued, and at last the dragging sound of heavy slipshod feet was heard approaching; the door was rudely opened, and a tall old man, of haggard appearance and in the meanest rags, entered, and, drawing himself proudly up, stared steadfastly at Stocmar, without even for an instant noticing the presence of the other.
“I wanted a word,—just one word with you, Professor,” began the manager, in an easy, familiar tone.
“Men do not whistle even for a dog, when he 's at his meals,” said the old man, insolently. “They told you I was at my dinner, did n't they?”
“Sorry to disturb you, Tom; but as two minutes would suffice for all I had to say—”
“Reason the more to keep it for another occasion,” was the stubborn reply.
“We are too late this time,” whispered Stocmar across towards Paten; “the fellow has been at the whiskey-bottle already.”
With that marvellous acuteness of hearing that a brain in its initial state of excitement is occasionally gifted with, the old man caught the words, and, as suddenly rendered aware of the presence of a third party, turned his eyes on Paten. At first the look was a mere stare, but gradually the expression grew more fixed, and the bleared eyes dilated, while his whole features became intensely eager. With a shuffling but hurried step he then moved across the floor, and, coming close up to where Paten stood, he laid his hands upon his shoulders, and wheeled him rudely round, till the light of the window fell full upon him.
“Well, old gent,” said Paten, laughing, “if we are not old friends, you treat me very much as though we were.”