"Why didn't Bob come himself?" he demands peevish.
"Rush of business," says I. "He'd been takin' time off and the work piled up on him."
"Humph!" says Adams. "Well, I've got to see him, that's all."
"In that case," says I, "you ought to drop around about—"
"Out of the question," says he. "Look at me. Been trying to shave myself. Besides— Well, I can't!"
"Mr. Robert thought," I goes on, "that you might—"
"Well?" breaks in Mr. Adams, turnin' his back on me sudden and glarin' at the draperies. "What is it, Nivens?"
At which the valet appears, holdin' a bunch of roses.
"From Mrs. Grenville Hawks, sir," says he. "They came while you were at breakfast, sir."
"Well, well, put them in a vase—in there," says Ham. And as Nivens goes out he kicks the door to after him.