At length there was a pause, when I heard Coleman whisper to Lawless:—
“Thomas was pretty right in saying that new fellow knows how to make himself comfortable, at all events”.
“He's a precious deal too free and easy to please me,” muttered Lawless, in an undertone; “I shall take the liberty of seeing whether his self-possession cannot be disturbed a little. I have no notion of such airs. Here, Mullins!”
And laying hold of Mullins by the arm, he pulled him into a chair by his side, and proceeded to give him some instructions in a whisper. The subject of their remarks, Harry Oaklands, who had, on re-entering the room, taken possession of the three chairs near the window, was still reclining, book in hand, in the same indolent position, apparently enjoying the beauty of the autumnal sunset, without concerning himself in the slightest degree about anything which might be going on inside the room.
Lawless, whose proceedings I was watching with an anxious eye, having evidently succeeded, by a judicious mixture of bullying and cajollery, in persuading Mullins to assist him in whatever he was about to attempt, now drew a chair to the other side of the window, and seated himself exactly opposite to Oaklands.
“How tired riding makes a fellow! I declare I'm regularly baked, used completely up,” he observed, and then continued, glancing at Oaklands, “Not such a bad idea, that. Mullins, give us a chair; I don't see why elevating the extremities should not pay in my case, as well as in other people's.”
He then placed his legs across the chair which Mullins brought him, and, folding his arms so as exactly to imitate the attitude of his opposite neighbour, sat for some minutes gazing out of the window with a countenance of mock solemnity. Finding this did not produce any effect on Oaklands, who, having slightly raised his eyes when Lawless first seated himself, immediately cast them upon the book again, Lawless stretched himself, yawned, and once more addressed Mullins.
“Shocking bad sunset as ever I saw—it's no go staring at that. I must have a book—give me the Byron.”
To this Mullins replied that he believed Mr. Oaklands was reading it.
“Indeed! the book belongs to you, does it not?”