“You say I was expecting you, Mr.——?”
O’Hagan smiled, waving his hand reassuringly.
“Pray be seated, Mr. Ritzmann.”
Mr. Ritzmann accepted the invitation, and O’Hagan sat upon the edge of the desk facing him. O’Hagan was between Mr. Ritzmann and the bell.
“I have decided to place with you for immediate publication a parcel of charming compositions—nine in all.”
Ritzmann’s eyes began to protrude.
“They are these.”
O’Hagan opened the portfolio and set the heap of MSS. on the desk.
With frequent sideway glances at his extraordinary visitor, Mr. Ritzmann began to look at the music.
“Why,” he burst out, suddenly, pushing the whole of it towards the Captain, “all this stuff has been submitted by post, and declined! All but this thing; and Miss Crichton was here only the other day with it. I don’t want the junk, my dear sir! If I’d known that’s what you——”