“Where is he?”
“In the ’orl, sir,” returned the footman, with a perked-up nose.
“Show him into the library; I will come to him immediately,” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, in the same tone as before.
Whelks bowed, and departed to obey the instructions he had received, and then to discuss with Sarah the nature of the business of a “Kermission Agent,” as he styled Chewkle’s occupation, and wherefore it should, as it appeared to him that it most certainly did, obtain so great an influence over such a man as Mr. Grahame.
Mr. Grahame perceiving that Helen had absorbed the attention of the Duke and Lester Vane, glided out of the room into the library. As he entered it he became conscious of a strong smell of the “fragrant weed,” which, however, to his olfactory nerves had not “the scent of the rose,” and he saw Mr. Chewkle, with part of a truly British cheroot in his hand, standing near to the lamp upon the table, harassed by doubts as to the propriety of relighting it or the propriety of doing nothing of the sort.
Mr. Grahame bowed patronisingly, but said hastily—
“Not smoking, I hope, Mr. Chewkle!”
“No,” returned Chewkle; “it was out afore I came in, but I thought if you didn’t mind, you know——”
“But, indeed, I do mind!” responded Mr. Grahame, quickly, and then added most fiercely, as he perceived the red and begrimed face of his visitor, his dirty collar, his necktie and his hair disordered, all indicating the frequent quaffing and replenishment of “the glass which cheers” and does inebriate—“Pray tell me, Mr. Chewkle, to what circumstance I am to attribute your visit at, to me, a most inconvenient time?”
“Well, sir, things happens without particularly caring for our convenience,” answered Chewkle, with a hiccup, which left a strong odour of some beverage—not green tea—behind it. “We would all like things to fall out jest as we would wish ‘em, but they don’t, an’ it seems as if the more you wish ’em the more they won’t.”