“Oh, you’re ’im, are yer? Yes, you’ve got to address them there envellups, and ’e’ll be up in the morning.”
This was depressing. Reginald’s castles in the air were beginning to tumble about his ears in rapid succession. The bare room he could excuse, on the ground that the Corporation was only just beginning its operations. Doubtless the carpet was on order, and was to be delivered soon. He could even afford not to afflict himself much about this vulgar, irreverent little boy, who was probably put in, as they put in a little watch-dog, to see to the place until he and his staff of assistants rendered his further presence unnecessary. But it did chill him to find that after his long journey, and his farewell to his own home, no one should think it worth while to be here to meet him and install him with common friendliness into his new quarters. However, Mr Medlock was a man of business, and was possibly prevented by circumstances over which he had no control from being present to receive him.
“Where’s the housekeeper?” demanded he, putting down his bag and relieving himself of his overcoat.
“’Ousekeeper! Oh yus,” said the boy, with a snigger; “no ’ousekeepers ’ere.”
“Where are my rooms, then?” asked Reginald, beginning to think it a pity the Corporation had brought him down all that way before they were ready for him.
“Ain’t this room big enough for yer?” said the boy; “ain’t no more ’sep’ your bedroom—no droring-rooms in this shop.”
“Show me the bedroom,” said Reginald.
The boy shuffled to the door and up another flight of stairs, at the head of which he opened the door of a very small room, about the size of one of the Wilderham studies, with just room to squeeze round a low iron bedstead without scraping the wall.
“There you are—clean and haired and no error. I’ve slep’ in it myself.”
Reginald motioned him from the room, and then sitting down on the bed, looked round him.