"Hi knows," remarked Buster under his breath. "'Cos 'ee 's 'er father, that's why."
"Come in, Mr. Dyke," said Moore, opening the door. "How are you to-day, sir?"
"Oh, very well, Thomas," replied the old gentleman, entering with a self-satisfied air. "How do you, my boy?"
Mr. Dyke's dress showed that he was enjoying prosperity. His coat and hat had hardly lost their appearance of newness, while the rest of his costume, though evidently not of recent purchase, was of good quality, greatly exceeding in costliness the apparel in which he was wont to garb himself in Ireland.
"I have nothing to complain of so far as health is concerned, Mr. Dyke. Buster, a chair for the gentleman."
"I have come to read you a poem, Thomas."
"Indeed?" said Moore. "Buster, two chairs for the gentleman."
"You will have your joke, Thomas," observed Mr. Dyke, with an indulgent smile, as he seated himself.
"I have n't much else, sir," said Moore, "that's why I value it so highly. How is Bessie, sir?"
"She is well and working hard on her new part. The new piece is produced at Drury Lane in a week."