“Is Mr. Arkush in?” demanded Merivale, with an air of friendliness.
“Do you want to see him personally?” returned the young man, not over politely.
“You have fathomed my purpose,” said Merivale with mock gravity.
“What about?”
Merivale drew near to the young man and shielding his mouth with his hand whispered, “Business,” accompanying his utterance with a knowing glance.
“Well, you can see me about business,” rejoined his interlocutor, surlily.
“Impossible. Here, take my card to Mr. Arkush and say I am pressed.”
“Mr. Arkush can’t see nobody. He’s sick.
“Sick? Ah, indeed?” cried Merivale. “Has he been sick long? I hope it is nothing serious. Pray tell me what the trouble is?”
The young man looked surprised. “Oh, it’s only rheumatism,” he said. “You ain’t a friend of his, are you?”