Harry Boyns, however, had not waited for the answer. He was already in the room, hat in hand.
“Now, sir,” he said, eagerly, “are you ready to start? The train leaves in half an hour, and we must not risk losing it to-day.”
“Losing it!” said Mr Webster, as he rose and slowly put on his greatcoat, assisted by Harry, “why, it just takes me five minutes to walk to the station. How do you propose to spend the remaining twenty-five?—But I say, Harry,” he added with a peculiar smile, “how uncommonly spruce you are to-day!”
“Not an unusual condition for a man to be in on his wedding-day,” retorted Harry; “and I am sure that I can return you the compliment with interest!”
This was true, for Mr Webster had “got himself up” that morning with elaborate care. His morning coat still smelt of the brown paper in which it had come home. His waistcoat was immaculately white. His pearl-grey trousers were palpably new. His lavender kid-gloves were painfully clean. His patent-leather boots were glitteringly black, and his tout ensemble such as to suggest the idea that a band-box was his appropriate and native home.
“Don’t be impatient, boy,” he said, putting some books into an iron safe, “I must attend to business first, you know.”
“You have no right to attend to business at all, after making it over to me, as you formally did yesterday,” said Harry. “If you come here again, sir, and meddle with my department, I shall be compelled to dissolve partnership at once!”
“Please, sir,” said Mr Grinder, appearing suddenly at the door, in a costume which was remarkable for its splendour and the badness of its fit—for Grinder’s was a figure that no ordinary tailor could understand, “Captain Daniel Boyns is at the door.”
“Send him in,” said Webster.
“He won’t come, sir; he’s afraid of being late for the train.”