“I wonder what he makes a year by his play,” said Barclay to himself, as he went back to the front door to knock for the third time. “I believe he plays square, too, but he has a wonderful head, and he’s practising night and day. Now for old Linnell.”
He was shown into Mr Linnell’s room the next minute, to find that he was expected, and that he was gravely and courteously received, and his rent paid, so that there was nothing for him to do but say “Good-morning.” But Josiah Barclay’s conscience was a little uneasy, and in spite of the fact that his tenant was far from being a rich man, there was something in his grave refined manner that won his respect.
“Wish you’d come and see us sometimes, Mr Linnell, just in a friendly way, you know. Chop and glass o’ sherry with Mrs Barclay and me; and you’d join us too, Mr Richard, eh?”
“Thank you, Mr Barclay, no,” said Richard’s father; “I never go out. Richard, my son, here, would, I dare say, accept your invitation.”
“Oh, but can’t you too, eh? Look here, you know, you’re a man who loves bits of old china, and I’ve quite a lot. Really good. Come: when shall it be?”
“Don’t press me now, Mr Barclay,” said his tenant gravely. “Perhaps some other time.”
“Then you’re offended, Mr Linnell. You’re a bit hipped because of the other lodgers, you know.”
“Mr Barclay, I have made no complaints,” said the elder Linnell quietly.
“No, you’ve made no complaints, but you show it in your way, don’t you see. It wasn’t for me to be too strict in my inquiries about people, Mr Linnell. I’m sorry I offended you; but what can I do?”
“Mr Barclay has a perfect right to do what he pleases with his own house,” replied the elder Linnell with dignity. “Good-day.”