“The gentleman asks who we are!” said Baynes, with a feeble laugh.
“I ask in no sort of disrespect to you,” said Butler, “but simply to learn in what capacity I am to regard you. Are you magistrates? Is this a court?”
“No, sir, we are not magistrates,” said Brand; “we are heads of departments,—departments which we shall take care do not include within their limits persons of your habits and pursuits.”
“You can know very little about my habits or pursuits. I promised your hall-porter I 'd kick him, and I don't suspect that either you or your little friend there would risk any interference to protect him.”
“My Lord!” said a messenger, in a voice of almost tremulous terror, while he flung open both inner and outer door for the great man's approach. The person who entered with a quick, active step was an elderly man, white-whiskered and white-haired, but his figure well set up, and his hat rakishly placed a very little on one side; his features were acute, and betokened promptitude and decision, blended with a sort of jocular humor about the mouth, as though even State affairs did not entirely indispose a man to a jest.
“Don't send that bag off to-night, Baynes, till I come down,” said he, hurriedly; “and if any telegrams arrive, send them over to the house. What's this policeman doing at the door?—who is refractory?”
“This—young man”—he paused, for he had almost said “gentleman”—“has just threatened an old and respectable servant of the office with a personal chastisement, my Lord.”
“Declared he 'd break every bone in his body,” chimed in Brand.
“Whose body?” asked his Lordship.
“Willis's, my Lord,—the hall-porter,—a man, if I mistake not, appointed by your Lordship.”