“Pst! S’Richard,” whispered the man hurriedly. “Talk of the No-we-never-mentions-him, and you see his—”
The door opened with a crash, and made the pictures swing upon the wall, while Jerry drew on one side to let the fresh-comer enter the room.
Chapter Four.
Mark in a Hole.
“Hullo, thick-head! loafing again.”
It was a dark, olive-complexioned young fellow, of Sir Richard’s age, who swung into the opening noisily, cigarette in mouth.
“Not loafing, Mr Frayne, sir,” said the man in an injured tone, as he fixed his eyes on the rather handsome student who had entered the room, and took in at a glance his white flannels and yellow-striped blazer, from the breast-pocket of which a thick gold chain was hanging. “Beg pardon, sir; you’ll be losing your watch-chain’s out o’ buttonhole.”
“Well, what business is it of yours, idiot? If I lose it, you might find it. Perquisites—eh, Jerry?”