“Hamlet, sah!”
“Hamlet! Very good. Is there a Mrs. Brooks?”
“‘Deed there is, sah,” answers the darkey, grinning from ear to ear.
“And some little Brookses—of Sheffield?”
“Yes, sah; not ob Sheffield, ob Boston.”
“That’s all right. Mr. Stoker shall give all of you seats. See if he is in the hotel.”
“Yes, sah.”
As he stalks to the door Stoker comes bounding in (Stoker is always on the run), to the discomfiture of Brooks and his load of rugs.
Brooks picks himself up with dignity. Stoker assures his chief that there is not a seat in the house for anybody.
“Then buy some for Brooks,” says Irving.