“Oh!” said the solicitor, with a smile. “An answer?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pray be seated. I will give you one immediately.”
The clerk handed to his principal the key of his room; he took it, unlocked the door, and, passing in, closed it after him.
Chewkle sat and waited for the dènouèment, as if he was engaged counting the letters in the printed notices of sittings in term, stuck up over the fireplace.
Presently a bell rang, and the clerk entered the room, closing the door after him, Chewkle still reading the printed paper. Some time elapsed.
“Somethin’s happened, shouldn’t wonder,” muttered Chewkle, still staring at the printed bill.
By and by the clerk made his appearance, and said o Chewkle—
“Step in, please.”
He led the way into the inner apartment, and Chewkle saw the solicitor with a flushed face and excited countenance, going through the papers in the box with the name of Grahame painted upon it.