“Then, if you use the front door, I shall,” and Harry rang a peal a little louder than he would have otherwise done.
James muttered something about his not knowing his place; but before the door was opened marched off for school.
The door was speedily opened by a servant.
“Is Squire Turner in?” asked Harry.
“Yes, he is. Won’t you come in?”
Harry entered, and passed into a room on the right, which the squire generally used as a sitting room. It was provided with a desk, studded with pigeon-holes, most of which were filled with papers. Here it was that the amateur lawyer received business calls, and transacted such business as came to his hands.
He looked round as Harry entered.
Squire Turner, whom I may as well describe here, was a tall man, with iron-gray hair, and a slight stoop in the shoulders. His face, which was rather harsh, began to show wrinkles. It was not, on the whole, a very pleasing or encouraging aspect; but Harry Raymond, who was used to the squire’s looks, did not waste much thought upon this. It was his nature to go directly to the point.
“Did you want to see me?” asked the squire, adjusting his spectacles, and looking at our hero.