“And if I leave my letter here, when shall I call for the answer?” asked Tony, diffidently.
“Any time from this to this day six weeks,” said the other, with a wave of the hand to imply the audience was ended.
“What if I were to try his private residence?” said Tony.
“Eighty-one, Park Lane,” said the other, aloud, while he mumbled over to himself the last line he had read, to recall his thoughts to the passage.
“You advise me then to go there?”
“Always cutting down, always slicing off something!” muttered the other, with his eyes on the paper. “'For the port-collector of Hallihololulo, three hundred and twenty pounds. Mr. Scrudge moved as amendment that the vote be reduced by the sum of seventy-four pounds eighteen and sevenpence, being the amount of the collector's salary for the period of his absence from his post during the prevalence of the yellow fever on the coast. The honorable member knew a gentleman, whose name he was unwilling to mention publicly, but would have much pleasure in communicating confidentially to any honorable gentleman on either side of the House, who had passed several days at Haccamana, and never was attacked by any form of yellow fever.' That was a home-thrust, eh?” cried the reader, addressing Tony. “Not such an easy thing to answer old Scrudge there?”
“I'm a poor opinion on such matters,” said Tony, with humility; “but pray tell me, if I were to call at Park Lane—”
The remainder of his question was interrupted by the sudden start to his legs of the austere porter, as an effeminate-looking young man with his hat set on one side, and a glass to his eye, swung wide the door, and walked up to the letter-rack.
“Only these, Willis?” said he, taking some half-dozen letters of various sizes.
“And this, sir,” said the porter, handing him Tony's letter; “but the young man thinks he 'd like to have it back;” while he added, in a low but very significant tone, “he's going to Park Lane with it himself.”