Volume One—Chapter Twelve.
Uncle Luke’s Spare Cash.
“Late again,” said old Crampton, as Harry Vine entered the office.
“How I do hate the sight of that man’s nose!” said the young man; and he stared hard, as if forced by some attraction.
The old clerk frowned, and felt annoyed. “I beg pardon,” he said.
“Granted,” said Harry, coolly.
“I said I beg pardon, Mr Harry Vine.”
“I heard you.”
“But I thought you spoke.”