I was early at my post on the following morning, being particularly anxious to meet with Mr. Wallis's scapegrace nephew, and ascertain whether anybody had found the dead body of the game-cock, and whether an inquest had been held; for I knew enough of the world to draw my own conclusions as to the result. He, although the principal, being a relative, would get off with a lecture, while I should probably be kicked out of my place.
In a fever of expectation, I hung over the banisters of the geometrical staircase, watching for his arrival.
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."