“I'm Mr. Merriwether. Say I wish to speak to him a moment.”
“I'm sorry, sir. He's not in.”
The footman was so unimpressed by the name of Merriwether that Tom experienced a new sensation, one which made him less sure of his own powers. He took out a card and a bank-note and held them out toward the man.
“I am anxious to see him.”
“Im sorry. I can't take it, sir,” said the footman, with such melancholy sincerity that Tom smiled at the torture of the cockney soul.
Then he ceased to smile. The master of this mysterious house had compelled even the footmen to obey him!
“But if you will call again in an hour, sir, I think perhaps, sir—”
“Thank you. Take it anyhow.”
He again held out the bank-note. The man saw it was for twenty dollars, and almost turned green.
“I—I d-daresent, sir!” he whimpered, and closed his eyes with the expression of an anchoret resolved not to see the beautiful temptress.