“By no means,” returned Charlie with a laugh, “but they are earnest souls, and I’m sure will go if I try to persuade them.”
“You’re sure to succeed, sir,” said Zook, “if your persuasions is accompanied wi’ sassengers, ’am, an’ buttered toast,” remarked the little man softly, as he came to a pause for a few seconds.
“I’ll bring to bear on them all the arguments that are available, you may be sure. Meanwhile I shall count you my first recruit.”
“Number 1 it is, sir, w’ich is more than I can say of this here slice,” said Zook, helping himself to more toast.
While the poor but happy man was thus pleasantly engaged, his entertainer opened his writing portfolio and began to scribble off note after note, with such rapidity that the amazed pauper at his elbow fairly lost his appetite, and, after a vain attempt to recover it, suggested that it might be as well for him to retire to one of the palatial fourpence-a-night residences in Dean and Flower Street.
“Not to-night. You’ve done me a good turn that I shall never forget” said Charlie, rising and ringing the bell with needless vigour.
“Be kind enough, Mrs Butt, to show Mr Zook to his bedroom.”
“My heye!” murmured the pauper, marching off with two full inches added to his stature. “Not in there, I suppose, missis,” he said facetiously, as he passed the coal-hole.
“Oh, lawks! no—this way,” replied the good woman, who was becoming almost imbecile under the eccentricities of her lodger. “This is your bedroom, and I only ’ope it won’t turn into a band-box before morning, for of all the transformations an’ pantimimes as ’as took place in this ’ouse since Mr Brooke entered it, I—”
She hesitated, and, not seeing her way quite clearly to the fitting end of the sentence, asked if Mr Zook would ’ave ’ot water in the morning.