"McDermot," exclaimed Moore. "What can the old vagabond want with me to-night?"
"If I am not mistaken, Tom, this is the old bloodsucker who is to be your future publisher?" said Lord Brooking.
"For life," responded Moore. "You remember I told you of our bargain not two hours ago. Yes, I am in, Mr. McDermot."
"Well then I 'll coom up," announced the publisher.
Moore was about to advise him not to when a gesture from Lord Brooking led him to desist.
"Pardon me, your Highness," said Lord Brooking, "but for certain reasons I deem it better that this gentleman should not recognize you when he first comes in."
"I'll look at the view, then," said the Regent, pleasantly.
By the time Wales had reached the window, wisely choosing the one which opened upon the street, for there still came sounds of distant chase from the roofs, McDermot was knocking on the door.
"Come in," called Moore.
The old Scotchman entered in a great rage.