The landlord, recovering from his surprise, came forward, bowing several times. “Yes, your honour! Oh, yes, indeed, your honour!—Chase that cur out of here, Joe!—If your honour will—”
“Do nothing of the sort, Joe!” interrupted Mr. Beaumaris.
“Is he yours, sir?” gasped the landlord.
“Certainly he is mine. A rare specimen: his family tree would surprise you! Is Mr. Anstey in?”
“He’ll be up in his room, sir. Keeps hisself to hisself, in a manner of speaking. If your honour would care to step into the parlour, I’ll run up and fetch him down before the cat can lick her ear.”
“No, take me up to him,” said Mr. Beaumaris. “Ulysses, do stop hunting for rats! We have no time to waste on sport this morning! Come to heel!”
Ulysses, who had found a promising hole in one corner of the tap, and was snuffing at it in a manner calculated to keep its occupant cowering inside it for the next twenty-four hours at least, regretfully obeyed this command, and followed Mr. Beaumaris up a steep, narrow stairway. The landlord scratched on one of the three doors at the top of this stair, a voice bade him come in, and Mr. Beaumaris, nodding dismissal to his guide, walked in, shut the door behind him, and said cheerfully: “How do you do? I hope you don’t object to my dog?”
Bertram, who had been sitting at a small table, trying for the hundredth time to hit upon some method of solving his difficulties, jerked up his head, and sprang to his feet, as white as his shirt. “ Sir! ” he uttered, grasping the back of his chair with one shaking hand.
Ulysses, misliking his tone, growled at him, but was called to order. “How many more times am I to speak to you about your total lack of polish, Ulysses?” said Mr. Beaumaris severely. “Never try to pick a quarrel with a man under his own roof! Lie down at once!” He drew off his gloves, and tossed them on to the bed. “What a very tiresome young man you are!” he told Bertram amiably.
Bertram, his face now as red as a beetroot, said in a choked voice: “I was coming to your house on Thursday, as you bade me!”