“I have had none,” returned Raikes with a rasping lack of emotion, “for the last ten years. It is too late to begin to cultivate a disability now.”
“You are wrong,” replied the Sepoy. “One’s attitude cannot be rigid at all points; that is bad management. The finest tragedy I ever witnessed was emphasized by the trivialities of the king’s jester.
“However,” he added, as if in support of his theory, “I can, at least, trouble you for a match.”
While Raikes busied himself in an effort to show the hospitality of the service indicated, the Sepoy’s busy, furtive eyes glanced here and there about the room with quick, inquiring glances.
At one end a bedstead stood, which an antiquarian would have accepted gladly as collateral for a loan.
Near-by a wardrobe, equally remote if more decrepit, leaned against the wall to maintain the balance jeopardized by a missing foot.
One chair, in addition to those occupied by Raikes and his companion, appeared to extend its worn arms with a weary insistence and dusty disapproval of their emptiness.
A table, large enough to accommodate a student’s lamp, several account books and a blotting-pad, completed this uninviting galaxy.
To the walls, however, the Sepoy directed his closest scrutiny.
With an incredibly rapid glance he surveyed every possible inch of space, turning his head cautiously to enable his eyes to penetrate into the more distant portions.