However, this pastime was cut short by Sarah coming in and saying, “There's a young man wants to see you, sir.”
Julia looked up and changed colour.
“I think he is a fireman,” said Sarah. She knew very well he was a fireman, and also one of her followers. Edward went out and found one of his late brethren, who told him a young gentleman had just been inquiring for him at the station.
“What was he like?”
“Why, I was a good ways off, but I saw he was a tall one.”
“Six feet?”
“Full that.”
“Give you his name?'
“No: I didn't speak to him: it was Andrew. Andrew says he asked if there was a fireman called Dodd: so Andrew said you had left; then the swell asked where you lived, and Andrew couldn't tell him any more than it was in Pembroke Street. So I told him, says I, 'Why couldn't you call me? It is number sixty-six,' says I. 'Oh, he is coming back,' says Andrew. However, I thought I'd come and tell you.” (And so get a word with Sarah, you sly dog.)
Edward thanked him, and put on his hat directly, for he could not disguise from himself that this visitor might be Alfred Hardie. Indeed, what more likely?