“You mean to say you buy legs of mutton at the stores, and carry them home? Supposing you met some one, if we were to—”
“Not very likely, a foggy night like this. I have a small house in Notting Hill. I take the 'bus at the Circus. I shall be very glad if you will come with me; so will the missus.”
“I forgot to ask about her, how is she?”
“Very well. Come and see for yourself. Come and dine with us to-morrow. I can't give you one of your restaurant dinners, but if leg of mutton will suit, all I can say is that I shall be very happy.”
“I'll come whenever you like.”
“Can you come to-morrow?”
“Yes. We might go to the theatre afterwards.”
“We might. Be at my place at half-past six, that will give us plenty of time.”
“What a queer fish he is,” thought Frank, as he walked down Regent Street, looking at the women. “Can't come and dine with me because he has two or three cheques to write, must have all his books out to make entries—what a clerk for the Government—an ideal clerk! What a genius for red tape!”
Willy was standing on the steps of the little house, and he commented on his friend's extravagances as he welcomed him.