The result of this survey was by no means reassuring; for a mizzling rain was falling, and a cheerless mist appeared to hang against the window.
Frank closed the curtains again, and looked wistfully at the bed, as if he were more than half inclined to return to it, and leave Captain O'Blunderbuss to do his worst;—but, on second thoughts, he knew that this was a hazardous venture—and, accordingly, he began to huddle on a portion of his garments.
Then commenced the process of shaving—always an unpleasant one, but doubly so by candle-light, and when the hand is so nervous that the chances are equal whether you mow off the hirsute stubble or the tip of your nose.
"Bother to this razor!" cried Frank: "it won't cut at all this morning!"
The fault was not, however, in the razor, but with him who wielded it.
At length, by dint of reiterated scraping, and steadying the right wrist with the left hand, Mr. Frank Curtis managed to achieve this portion of his toilette.
When occupied with his ablutions, he thought that the water had never appeared so icy cold before; and his teeth chattered like a box of dominoes rattling.
The fact was, that the nearer the eventful moment approached, the more alarmed became this heroic young gentleman, lest the lawyer should disappoint him, or deceive himself, in the task of taming the formidable Captain O'Blunderbuss.
It was half-past six before Mr. Curtis quitted his bed-room; and he had just time to take a cup of coffee in his sitting apartment while the girl of the house ran to fetch a cab. She speedily returned with, or rather in the vehicle; but when Mr. Curtis had taken her place, he perceived to his dismay that the horse had such an unpleasant knack of suddenly bolting round each corner he came to, and the driver was already so drunk, even at that early hour in the morning, that the chances were decidedly in favour of an upset.
He, however, reached the lawyer's office in safety, though not before the clocks at the West-End were striking seven.