Barres looked back at him:
“A one-eyed Dutchman?”
“Ah, g’wan, sorr, wid yer hokin’ an’ jokin’! Is it 122 graft ye say? An’ how can ye say it, sorr, knowin’ me as ye do, Misther Barres?”
The impudent grin on the Irishman’s face was too much for the young man. He continued to mount the stairs, laughing.
X
HER EVENING
As he entered the studio he heard the telephone ringing. Presently Selinda marched in:
“A lady, sir, who will not giff her name, desires to spik to Mr. Barres.”
“I don’t talk to anonymous people,” he said curtly.