“I wish to see Mr. Fleming, Sir,” he said, his voice trembling slightly, his face pale, his blue-gray eyes ablaze.
The man at the desk looked up from his work.
“I have just informed you there is no vacancy at present,” he said testily, and turned to his papers again, as if dismissing the incident.
“Will you kindly tell me if Mr. Fleming is in?” said Cameron in a voice that had grown quite steady; “I wish to see him personally.”
“Mr. Fleming cannot see you, I tell you!” almost shouted the man, rising from his desk and revealing himself a short, pudgy figure, with flabby face and shining bald head. “Can't you understand English?—I can't be bothered—!”
“What is it, Bates? Someone to see me?”
Cameron turned quickly towards the speaker, who had come from the inner room.
“I have brought you a letter, Sir, from Mr. Denman,” he said quietly; “it is there,” pointing to Bates' desk.
“A letter? Let me have it! Why was not this brought to me at once, Mr. Bates?”
“It was an open letter, Sir,” replied Bates, “and I thought there was no need of troubling you, Sir. I told the young man we had no vacancy at present.”