“Ruggles.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There are five or six foreign letters in my desk for tomorrow’s post. Copy them out to-night. See that you do it to-night. Peekins will remain with you, and lock up after you have done.”
Ruggles, who knew that this involved work till near midnight, humbly replied, “Yes, sir.”
Having thus secured the misery of at least two human beings, Denham went home, somewhat relieved, to dinner.
Bax unconsciously, but naturally, followed his example. He also went to dinner, but, having no home in that quarter, he went to the “Three Jolly Tars,” and found the landlord quite willing to supply all his wants on the shortest possible notice, namely, three-quarters of an hour.
In a snug box of that celebrated place of entertainment, he found Tommy Bogey (whom he had brought with him) awaiting his appearance. The precocious youth was deeply immersed in a three-days’-old copy of The Times.
“Hallo! Bax, you’ve been sharp about it,” said Tommy, laying down the paper and pulling a little black pipe out of his pocket, which he proceeded coolly and quietly to fill just as if he had been a bearded and grey-headed tar; for Tommy, being a worshipper of Bax, imitated, as all worshippers do, the bad as well as the good qualities of his hero, ignorant of, as well as indifferent to, the fact that it would have been more noble to imitate the good and avoid the bad.
“Ay, we’ve settled it all slick off in no time,” said Bax, sitting down beside his young companion, and proceeding also to fill his pipe.
“An’ wot about the widders and horphans?” inquired Tommy, beginning to smoke, and using his extremely little finger as a tobacco-stopper in a way that might have surprised a salamander.