Galusha did not appear to hear the question, and before it was repeated a knock, loud, portentous, threatening, sounded upon the door.
“Let him in, Primmie,” commanded Miss Phipps.
Mr. Pulcifer entered. His bearing was as ominous as his knock. He nodded to Martha, glanced inquiringly at Cabot, and then turned his gaze upon Galusha Bangs.
“Well, Raish,” said Martha, cheerfully, “you're an early bird this mornin'. How do you do?”
The great Horatio's only acknowledgment of the greeting was a nod. He did not even remove his cap. He was looking at the little man in the chair at the foot of the table and he seemed quite oblivious of any one else. And Galusha, for that matter, seemed quite as oblivious of him.
The Pulcifer mouth opened and the Pulcifer finger pointed.
“Say,” commanded Raish. “Say—you!” And as this seemed to have little or no effect upon the individual toward whom the finger pointed, he added: “Say, you—er—What's-your-name—Bangs.”
Galusha, who had been absently playing with his napkin, twisting it into folds and then untwisting it, looked up.
“Eh?” he queried. “Oh, yes—yes, of course. How do you do, Mr. Pulcifer?”
This placidity seemed to shut off Raish's breath for the moment, but it returned in full supply.