“Then tell somebody I don’t please,” said the doctor shortly.
“Yes, sir,” said the maid, going.
“No, stop! I don’t want to be rude, even if people have put me out. What does Mrs Somebody want?”
“Please, sir, it isn’t a Mrs, it’s a Mister,” said the girl.
“Go and see him, Rodd,” said the doctor shortly. “I expect it’s somebody wants subscriptions, and I haven’t got any.”
“Please, sir,” interposed the maid, “the—er—gent—person—said he’d heard say that you wanted a captain.”
Uncle Paul grunted, frowned, and then in a surly tone exclaimed—
“Well, there, show him in.”
The next minute the maid re-opened the door, showing in a heavy, sun-tanned, middle-aged man, who thrust the cap he carried into the yawning pocket of a dark blue pea-jacket, stared hard at the doctor, glanced at Rodd, and then turning sharply on his heels he stood with his back to the latter, stiff, squared, and sturdy, looking as the boy thought like a hop-sack set on end, and stared at the maid where she stopped, literally fixing her with his eyes for a few moments, before, quite startled at the fierceness of his gaze, she darted out, closing the door loudly.
“Business. Private!” literally growled the visitor.