“I hope you’ll try and follow what I say,” I continued a little wearily; “I have special opportunities for knowing.... Political, you know.”
“Certainly,” he said, “certainly; but about those forms?”
“Well,” I said, “you didn’t suppose they supplied them, did you?”
“I almost did,” he ventured.
“Oh, you did,” said I, with a loud laugh, “well, you’re wrong there. However, I dare say I’ve got one on me.” He looked up eagerly as I felt in my pockets. I brought out a telegraph blank, two letters, and a tobacco pouch. I looked at them for a moment. “No,” said I, “I haven’t got one; it’s a pity, but I’ll tell you who will give you one; you know the place opposite, where the bills are drafted?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said, admitting ignorance for the first time in this conversation and perhaps in his life.
“Well,” said I impatiently, “never mind, anyone will show you. Go there, and if they don’t give you a form they’ll show you a copy of Paper B, which is much the same thing.”
“Thank you,” said he humbly, and he got up to move out. He was going a little groggily, his eyes were dull and sodden. He presented all the aspect of a man under a heavy strain.
“You’ve got it all clear, I hope?” I asked cheerfully as he neared the door.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “Thank you; yes!”