John Bradfield went slowly down the few stairs which led into the inner hall. By the time he reached the bend which would bring him in sight of the newcomer, he had made up his mind.
“I must take the bull by the horns,” said he to himself. “After all, the man’s a fool, and will be easy to manage, even if he does know or guess a little too much.”
With all his knowledge of the world, John Bradfield was capable of making the mistake of thinking a fool can be easy to manage.
CHAPTER XXI. MR. MARRABLE’S MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Surely no human creature ever trod this earth, who, by his appearance, seemed less likely to inspire fear than Mr. Marrable.
A fair, colourless, middle-aged man, under the middle height, and inclined to be stout, he was the most inoffensive-looking person in the world, and, to judge by his demeanour as he stood in the hall, holding his shabby tall hat in his hand, and looking about him with an air of awe-struck astonishment, the humblest and the meekest.
As John Bradfield approached him, with outstretched hand, and a rather forced smile of welcome on his face, Mr. Marrable withdrew his gaze from the objects around him, and fixed it nervously upon his old friend.
“Well, Alf,” began John Bradfield, as he came up to his abashed old friend, “this is a strange meeting after all these years, isn’t it?”