“The Chief will see Cholmondeley Montgomery Mo-ly——”
“Mullynooks,” said a small, black-haired, black-eyed young man, rising, with a yawn.
“Mo-ly-know,” said the emissary, articulating the name with great aplomb in his own manner.
“Neux rhymes with dukes,” said the young man with black eyes with an air of condescension. “And you got both my first names wrong, but it is of no consequence.”
“I agree with you,” said the emissary with a devastating emphasis, “it is of no consequence. And it is not considered the thing to keep fancy names without one is up to them socially.”
Cholmondeley Montgomery Molyneux retired with an air of such supreme indifference, and of such inimitable flair, that those of his predecessors were made to appear as but the poorest of imitations.
There was now only one other person remaining in the room, one whose youthfulness had been merged some years in a robust and full-blooded manhood.
“Cocky young swine, ain’t he?” said this paladin to the boy with a great and sudden friendliness. “I should have to put it across him if I had to do with him much.”
“I—I—I b-beg your p-pardon, sir,” stammered the boy. Under his breath he repeated several words of the English tongue which he then heard for the first time.
“Stow the polite, matey,” said the other with an increasing friendliness. “A cove can’t live up to it when he’s off duty.”