They had such a tea that evening on the strength of it. George ate muffins and sallylunns, and talked and made jokes, and ate all at the same time, and nearly choked himself through the tea going the wrong way; and Bess was so excited that George declared he must take her to the play to keep her quiet.
It was one of the happiest evenings of their short married life. The play was beautiful, and they sat in the pit, squeezed up close together, and George fell in love with the leading lady, and Bess punched him for it, and declared that the villain of the piece had made a great impression on her.
And then they went and had some supper—real chops, at a real supper-room—and it was twelve o’clock before they got home. George whistled ‘Cheer, boys, cheer’ all the way through the street, and would have whistled all the way upstairs, had not a loud snore proclaimed the fact that sleep was upon the tired eyelids of the inmates. So George took off his boots and pretended to be a burglar, and Bess was obliged to giggle out loud when he tumbled over the coal-scuttle on the landing and said half a naughty word.
The next morning, punctually at ten o’clock, George arrived at the address given him, and ascended to the third floor, as he had been directed. There on a door he found a paper pasted with ‘Smith & Co.’ upon it, in a bold round hand.
He knocked, and the familiar voice of A. B. bade him enter.
‘Good-morning, Mr. Smith,’ said that gentleman. ‘Glad to see you so punctual.’
George took off his overcoat and put it on a chair in the corner. Then he looked round. It wasn’t much of an office, certainly, and had evidently been taken ready furnished. There was a table and two old chairs, a desk that had been a good deal used, and a couple of office stools.
‘This is only a branch office of our firm,’ said Mr. Brooks, for such was his name, he informed George. ‘We have offices all over London.’
Mr. Brooks waved his hands to the four points of the compass.
‘I see,’ said George.