"It's written there, sir," replied the footman. "He said you wouldn't know him, but he would be glad if you could see him for a few moments on business."
"Judge Simmons," read out Mr. Field, as he took up the card. "Sounds as if he came from America."
"So he does, sir, if you can go by his accent," answered Jenkins.
"Don't like Yankees, though I've spent so much of my life among them," murmured Mr. Field under his breath. "What can this fellow want, coming bothering me here?" he added in a slightly louder tone.
"I don't know, sir, I didn't happen to enquire," replied the footman.
"Don't be impertinent, Jenkins," said Mr. Field looking up sharply. He lived in continual dread that his servants were making fun of him behind his back, and Jenkins' tone was suspiciously polite. "Of course it's not your place to question my visitors, and you'd pretty soon find yourself in hot water if you did."
"Judge Simmons is a better specimen of a gentleman than old Field," was the footman's conclusion as he piloted the visitor into the library, "and I fancy he knows a thing or two by the look of him. I shouldn't like to be faced by him if there was anything shady I wanted to hide. His eyes seem to go right through you, as if he could count your very bones."
Certainly the tall spare figure that crossed the room to shake hands with Mr. Field was a good example of the typical well-bred American. Clean-shaven, with a firm jaw, and quick, piercing eyes, he gave one the impression at once of a strong man, alert and observant, with a sense of humour tempering the sternness of the mouth.
"I must apologize," he said, "for intruding upon you in this manner, but I shall be grateful if you will allow me to speak to you on a matter of rather urgent business."
Mr. Field motioned him to a chair, and replied that he would be pleased to assist him if it was in his power to do so.