‘But you must have something to eat,’ protested his mother. ‘See’—she rose hastily—‘I’ll get a chop done at once.’
‘I couldn’t eat it if you did. I dare say you’ve got some cold meat. Leave it out for me; I don’t know what time I shall get back.’
‘You’re very unkind, Dick,’ here remarked Alice, who wore a mutinous look. ‘Why couldn’t you let us go to the theatre?’
Her brother vouchsafed no reply, but withdrew from the room, and almost immediately left the house. He walked half a mile with his eyes turned to the ground, then noticed a hansom which was passing empty, and had himself driven to Hoxton. He alighted near the Britannia Theatre, and thence made his way by foul streets to a public-house called the ‘Warwick Castle.’ Only two customers occupied the bar; the landlord stood in his shirt-sleeves, with arms crossed, musing. At the sight of Mutimer he brightened up, and extended his hand.
‘How d’you do; how d’you do, sir?’ he exclaimed. ‘Glad to see you.’
The shake of the hands was a tribute to old times, the ‘sir’ was a recognition of changed circumstances. Mr. Nicholas Dabbs, the brother of Daniel, was not a man to lose anything by failure to acknowledge social distinctions. A short time ago Daniel had expostulated with his brother on the use of ‘sir’ to Mutimer, eliciting the profound reply, ‘D’you think he’d have ‘ad that glass of whisky if I’d called him Dick?’
‘Dan home yet?’ Mutimer inquired.
‘Not been in five minutes. Come round, sir, will you? I know he wants to see you.’
A portion of the counter was raised, and Richard passed into a parlour behind the bar.
‘I’ll call him,’ said the landlord.