“Hullo!” came another voice—“is that Mr. Soames?”
“Yes! Is that Mr. Gianapolis speaking?”
“It is, my dear Soames!” replied the sing-song voice; and Soames, closing his eyes again, had before him a mental picture of the radiantly smiling Greek.
“Yes, my dear Soames,” continued Gianapolis; “here I am. I hope you are quite well—perfectly well?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you; but as a man of business, it has occurred to me that failing a proper agreement—which in this case I know would be impossible—a trifling advance on the first quarter's”...
“On your salary, my dear Soames! On your salary? Payment for the first quarter shall be made to you to-morrow, my dear Soames! Why ever did you not express the wish before? Certainly, certainly!”...
“Will it be sent to me?”
“My dear fellow! How absurd you are! Can you get out to-morrow evening about nine o'clock?”
“Yes, easily.”
“Then I will meet you at the corner of Victoria Street, by the hotel, and hand you your first quarter's salary. Will that be satisfactory?”