"Heaven forbid!" said Mr Sigglesthorne. "No, miss. But I am rather a—bookworm. Ha! Ha! Yes, that's what I am—a bookworm."
This idea seemed to afford him much private amusement, until putting on his glasses and opening Miss Crabingway's note his eyes fell on the contents, and he at once became grave. It was just as if Miss Crabingway were standing before him, speaking.
"Well, Joseph Sigglesthorne," the note ran, "so you have forgotten, as I knew you would. There is no excuse—I gave you three calendars, which you have not hung on the wall, by the by, but have stowed away out of sight—you've forgotten where."
(This was quite true, as Mr Sigglesthorne realized, as he stroked the back of his head and tried to recall what he had done with the calendars.)
"The money I trusted you with is overdue. Kindly hand the deal box and key to Miss Pamela there, and ask her to take out the notes."
"Ah, yes," said Mr Sigglesthorne aloud, as if Miss Crabingway were indeed in the room waiting for him to apologize. "Very thoughtless of me, I'm sure."
It may be thought remarkable that Mr Sigglesthorne should have remembered where the deal box was. But Mr Sigglesthorne always remembered where he had put money—a peculiarity of his that Miss Crabingway knew well.
And now he was full of remorse at having failed Miss Crabingway in regard to the date—for she had paid him well to remember. Mr Sigglesthorne's clothes and surroundings might have led one to think that he was none too well off, but this idea would have been wrong—with regard to the present, at any rate. Besides Miss Crabingway's money payments, he had lately got some 'research' work—this latter fact he mentioned to his visitors with some pride, and partly to account for the piles of papers abounding everywhere. He left them to think this piece of news over while he retired to another room to fetch the deal box.
While he was gone Martha rolled her eyes upward, and raised her hands in despair.
"How I should like to set to and tidy up a bit for him, poor gentleman," she sighed.