“Boss in?” Mr. Littleham demanded simultaneously.
Dauncey rose from his seat and eyed the visitors coldly.
“Have you an appointment with Mr. Pratt?” he asked.
“Appointment be damned!” the builder began. “We want—”
“Look here,” Mr. Montague interrupted, the methods of his race asserting themselves in his persuasive tone, “it is most important that we should see Mr. Pratt at once.”
“Nothing wrong Cropstone way, is there?” Dauncey enquired. “I thought you were out of that now.”
“Is the guv’nor in or isn’t he?” Littleham demanded, mopping his forehead.
Dauncey spoke through an office telephone, and after a very brief delay threw open the door of the private office and ushered in the two callers. Jacob looked up from some papers as they entered and stared at them a little blankly.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I thought we’d parted company for a time.”
Littleham, usually the silent partner, asserted himself then. He pushed the trembling Montague to one side and stood squarely before the desk.