While I was thus occupied, my nerves “screwed up,”—almost to cracking, Mr. Wallis's office-door was thrown open, and I beheld that very gentleman's round, pleasant physiognomy, embrowned by his travels, staring me full in the face. I really lost my equilibrium at the apparition.
“Oh!—it's you, is it,” cried he. “Where's my rascal?”
“He's not come yet, sir,” I replied.
“That fellow's never at hand when I want him—I'll cashier him by ___.” He slammed to his own door, and—opened it again immediately.
“Timmis come?” demanded he.
“No, sir; I don't think he'll be here for an hour.”
“True—I'm early in the field; but what brings you here so soon?—some mischief, I suppose.”
“I'm always early, sir, for I live hard by.”
“Ha!—well—I wish—.”
“Can I do anything for you, sir?” I enquired.