"Not yet."
"When he comes tell him we are here, and send him in, will you?"
Quibbles bowed, and retired.
"Is that the proprietor of this establishment, Quirk?" asked Arthur, helping himself to a glass of wine.
"Ho, ho, bless your heart, no. The proprietor is one of the pillars of an up-town church, and would feel his reputation ruined, and himself disgraced, if seen behind the counter of such a concern. He hires this man to play proprietor, and keeps the place open for the benefit of those who prefer bar-rooms to churches. You see, Christians go into anything that pays well, here."
Arthur bent over his glass with something like a frown on his young brow; then holding his wine up between his eye and the light, he shook it slowly, and watched the ruddy reflection playing on his hand.
"Didn't I hear you ask if Clinton had been here, Quirk?"
"Aye, just so."
"Does he frequent this place?"