"Was you wantin' it for long, sir?" he enquired.
"A month, I think," was the reply; "but three weeks——"
"I'm sorry, sir," began Bindle, then he smacked his leg with such suddenness that the stranger started back in alarm, his soft felt hat falling from his head and hanging behind him attached to a hat-guard.
"Now isn't that jest like me!" cried Bindle, his face wreathed in smiles.
The stranger eyed Bindle nervously, as he fumbled to retrieve his lost head-gear, looking like a dog endeavouring to ascertain if he still possessed a tail.
"I was thinkin' of the other one," said Bindle. "Yes; there's Number Six to let from next Monday."
"What is the rent?" enquired the caller.
Bindle, who had no idea of the rent of furnished flats, decided to temporise. "I'll go and ask, sir," he said. "Wot was you exactly wantin', an' about wot figure?"
"Well, a bedroom, bath-room, sitting-room, kitchen and attendance, would do," was the reply. "I do not want to pay more than three and a half guineas a week."
"Now ain't that funny!" cried Bindle, and without waiting to explain what was funny, he picked up the key of Number Six from his desk. "Now you jest come with me, sir, an' I'll show you the very place you're wantin'."