"It is a dreadful distance down there," he murmured, flattening himself against the wall and closing his eyes.
A pair of slim white hands at that instant indolently readjusted the thick mass of hair and quite as casually disappeared. I failed to hear Mr. Poopendyke's remark.
"I think, sir," he proceeded, "it would be a very good idea to get some of our correspondence off our hands. A great deal of it has accumulated in the past few weeks. I wish to say that I am quite ready to attend to it whenever—"
"Time enough for letters," said I, still staring.
"We ought to clean them all up before we begin on the romance, sir. That's my suggestion. We shan't feel like stopping for a lot of silly letters—By the way, sir, when do you expect to start on the romance?" He usually spoke of them as romances. They were not novels to Poopendyke.
I came to my feet, the light of adventure in my eye.
"This very instant, Poopendyke," I exclaimed.
His face brightened. He loves work.
"Splendid! I will have your writing tablets ready in—"
"First of all, we must have a ladder. Have you seen to that?"