Having got upon this very comfortable and pleasant understanding together, Mr. Podgson and Mr. Styles chatted for about a quarter of an hour respecting the new railway scheme: and the latter took his departure, highly delighted with the reception he had experienced and the success of his visit.
Punctually as the clock struck three that afternoon, did Captain O’Blunderbuss and Mr. Curtis present themselves at the office in Crosby Hall Chambers; and as the third stroke was proclaimed by the churches in the neighbourhood, they entered the speculator’s private room, where that gentleman was seated at the table with his watch in his hand.
“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Styles, returning the watch to his pocket: “this is business-like—and I am well pleased. The chops, you perceive, are smoking hot—the sherry, I know, is first-rate.”
Thus speaking, he did the honours of the table and the two guests did honour to the meal. The chops speedily disappeared—so did a bottle of wine; and a second was already opened before a word had been uttered on business matters.
“Now, gentlemen,” at length cried Mr. Styles; “I will give you a toast. Here’s the health of our Chairman—the Railway Lion!”
“No! you don’t mean to say——” ejaculated Mr. Curtis.
“Hould your tongue, Frank—and let Misther Sthyles say whatever he chooses!” exclaimed the captain. “Dhrink the toast, man—and that’s all about it!”
“I can assure you, gentlemen,” continued the promoter of the new concern, “that I have fulfilled the promise which I made you yesterday. Podgson is ours!”
“Hooray!” vociferated Frank Curtis.
“Hur-rah-ah!” thundered Captain O’Blunderbuss.