"Why, boy! Bless me."
"I say," he calls to the porter who brings up his valise, "when that young image boy comes, just send him along to me; I owe him some damages."
A few minutes later, the boy enters the office and deposits his disordered tray upon a chair.
"Come along, you," calls the porter, gruffly. "The gentleman's looking for you."
"Wait a minit, can't ye?" retorts the boy coolly. "I jest want to take account of stock."
He drops on one knee and rearranges his tray with great care and no haste.