"Mr. O'Meara."
He turns nervously, to encounter the gaze of a large gentleman with a rosy face, curling, iron-gray hair, and beard, and a blazing diamond in his shirt front.
"Eh! sir; you addressed me?"
"I did," replies the gentleman, in a low, energetic tone, strangely at variance with his general appearance, at the same time coming close and grasping the lawyer's hand with great show of cordiality, and before the astounded little man can realize what he is about. "Call me Wedron, sir, Wedron, ahem, of the New York Bar. I must have an interview with you, sir, and at once."
O'Meara draws back and replies rather frigidly:
"I am glad to know you, sir; but if your business is not too urgent—if another time will do—"
"Another time will not do? my business concerns Clifford Heath."
"Then, sir, I am at your service."