For Luigi’s eyes seemed to him to emit a peculiarly sinister or baleful glare that was not pleasant.
“No, no, go away!” said Melton impatiently.
Just then the door opened, and Robbins the pompous appeared.
“Not at home, sir,” he said, before he was asked.
“Take my card, Robbins, and ask Lord Barmouth to see me.”
“I dursen’t, sir; I dursen’t indeed,” said the butler in a whisper. “It’s more than my place is worth, sir, and his lordship couldn’t see you, he couldn’t indeed.”
“Why not?”
Robbins “made a face” which was quite expressive enough, for Charley Melton read it to mean “the dragon wouldn’t let him,” and with a feeling of bitterness and rage which nearly tempted him to kick the organ-grinder into the gutter, he turned and walked away, to go straight from thence to Upper Gimp Street, where he found the handsome hairdresser rearranging the costume of his waxen lady dummy.
“Ah, m’sieu; yes, I am quite at liberty. Entrez, m’sieu.”
Charley Melton confounded his “Ah, monsieur” with the Italian’s “Ah, signore,” and he walked into the saloon, and stood for a few minutes in silence thinking, while Monsieur Hector suggested hair-cutting, shampooing, scent, singeing, and other matters connected with his profession.