And he tiptoed out of the doorway unnoticed.
"You don't say so, Mr. Dabble?" replied Moore in an interested tone.
"Indeed I do, Mr. Moore. I think I have time to show you," said Dabble, rising as he spoke.
"By all means do so."
Dabble pulled his watch from his pocket as he crossed to the basket.
"Gracious!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea it was so late. I have n't a moment to spare. Good-day, sir.
"Good-day," said Moore politely, as the clerk picked up the basket, not noticing the difference in weight in the hurry of the moment, and opening the door closed by Buster in making his escape, nodded a last good-bye to the poet before going.
Left to himself, Moore took another drink from his glass.
"Where the devil," thought he, "did Buster get that wine? That boy is certainly a wonder."
A tremendous crash was heard in the hall below. Moore ran to the door, and leaning over the banister sought to discover the cause of the racket as up the stairs came Buster, running lightly in his stockinged feet as any cat. Moore seized him by the arm.