The place was fitted up as a study, and a curtain shut off a smaller room suggestive of a bed within; while over the chimney-piece were foils opposite single-sticks; boxing-gloves hung in pairs, bruised and swollen, as if suffering from their last knocking about; a cavalry sabre and a dragoon officer’s helmet were on the wall opposite the window. Books, pictures, and a statuette or two made the place attractive, and here and there were objects which told of the occupant of that room’s particular aim.
For beneath the helmet and sabre stood a piano open, and with a piece of music on the stand—a movement by Chopin; a violoncello leaned in its case in one corner, a cornet-à-piston showed itself, like an arrangement in brass macaroni packed in red velvet upon a side-table; and in front of it lay open a small, flat flute-case, wherein were the two halves of a silver-keyed instrument side by side, in company with what seemed to be its young one—so exact in resemblance was the silver-mounted piccolo made to fit into the case.
There were other signs about of the occupant’s love of the sweet science; for there were a tuning-fork, a pitch-pipe, and a metronome on the chimney-piece, a large musical-box on the front of the book-case, some nondescript pipes, reeds, and objects of percussion; and, to show that other tastes were cultivated to some extent, there were, besides, several golf-clubs, fishing-rods, a cricket-bat, and a gun-case.
But the owner of all sat intent upon the contrivance before him upon the table, and Jerry scratched his nose now with the edge of the clothes-brush.
“Beg pardon, S’Richard—”
“What the dickens do you want now?” cried the young man, impatiently.
“On’y wanted to ’mind you of what I said lars week, S’Richard.”
“Didn’t I tell you to talk to me when I wasn’t busy?”
“Yes, S’Richard; but, you see, you never ain’t not busy. When you ain’t at your books, getting ready for the gov’nor, you’re out with Mr Mark Frayne, sir, or some of the other gents; and when you are at home here, sir, you’re always tunin’ up, an’ windin’ up, or ’venting something.”
“Well, there, I am, Jerry,” said the young man smoothing his perplexed-looking brow. “Now, then, what is it?”