All the while he was wondering why the stout man should have taken the trouble to come and see him.
"Perhaps you'll know me when I tell you that I'm Bunsby," said the stout visitor drawing himself up and inflating his chest with an air of importance.
"Of Bunsby's Dime Museum?" asked Mark.
"Exactly! You've hit it the first time. Most people have heard of me," he added complacently.
"Oh yes, sir, I've heard of you often. So have you, Tom?"
"Yes," answered Tom, fixing his eyes on Mr. Bunsby with awe-struck deference, "I've been to de museum often."
"Mr. Bunsby," said Mark gravely, "this is my particular friend, Tom Trotter."
"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Trotter," said Mr. Bunsby, offering his hand.
Tom took it shyly, and felt that it was indeed a proud moment for him. To be called Mr. Trotter by the great Bunsby, and to have his hand shaken into the bargain, put him on a pinnacle of greatness which he had never hoped to reach.
"Won't you walk in, Mr. Bunsby? This is my mother, Mrs. Mason, and this is my sister Edith."