"Awake, James?" said he.
"Name of Harthur—if you please, sir!" retorted the Gentleman-in-Powder, brushing away the touch of the cane, and eyeing the place with much concern.
"If, James," continued Mr. Smivvle, belligerent of whisker, "if you would continue to ornament this lordly mansion, James, be more respectful, hereafter, to your master's old and tried friends," saying which Mr. Smivvle gave a twirl to each whisker, and turned to inspect a cabinet of old china.
"Sevres, by George!" he murmured, "we'll make it a pound!" He was still lost in contemplation of the luxurious appointments that everywhere met his view, and was seriously considering the advisability of "making it thirty shillings," when the appearance of Barnabas cut him short, and he at once became all smiles, flourishes and whiskers.
"Ah, Beverley, my boy!" he cried heartily, "pray forgive this horribly unseasonable visit, but—under the circumstances—I felt it my duty to—ah—to drop in on you, my dear fellow."
"What circumstances?" demanded Barnabas, a little stiffly, perhaps.
"Circumstances affecting our friend Barrymaine, sir."
"Ah?" said Barnabas, his tone changing, "what of him? though you forget, Mr. Barrymaine and I are still strangers."
"By heaven, you are right, sir, though, egad! I'm only a little previous,—eh, my dear fellow?" and, smiling engagingly, Mr. Smivvle followed Barnabas into a side room, and shutting the door with elaborate care, immediately shook his whiskers and heaved a profound sigh. "My friend Barrymaine is low, sir,—devilish low," he proceeded to explain, "indeed I'm quite distressed for the poor fellow, 'pon my soul and honor I am,—for he is—in a manner of speaking—in eclipse as it were, sir!"
"I fear I don't understand," said Barnabas.