"Ah," exclaimed Mr. Shrig, nodding and rubbing his hands again, "your eyes is good 'uns, ain't they, sir?"
"Yes."
"Then jest take a good look at that theer seven-thirty, vill you, sir—come, vot do you see?"
"That the paper is roughened a little, and the ink has run."
"Yes, and vot else? Look at it a bit closer, sir."
"Why," said Barnabas staring hard at the spot, "it looks as though something had been scratched out!"
"And so it has, sir. If you go there at seven-thirty, it von't be a fair lady as'll be vaiting to meet you. The time's been altered o' course—jest as I 'oped and expected."
"Ah!" said Barnabas, slowly and very softly, and clenched his fist.
"So now, d'ye see, you can't go—can ye?" said Mr. Shrig in a hopeless tone.
"Yes!" said Barnabas.