“I wish he would; I should be ever so much obliged to him. Would you mind it, Duke?”
“Mind what?”
“Taking a message for me to a poor fellow that I wanted badly to go and see to-day.”
“Who is he? Where does he hang out?”
“His name is John Baines, and he hangs out in Red Pepper Lane, ten minutes from here, at the back of the square.”
“Some abominable slum, no doubt.”
“The locality is not Berkeley Square or Piccadilly, but it would not kill you to walk through it once,” rejoined Stephen.
“Do go, there’s a dear boy!” coaxed Nelly, fixing her bright eyes on Marmaduke’s face, with a smile that would have fascinated a gorilla.
Marmaduke rose, stretched his arms, as if to brace himself for an effort.
“Who’s your friend John Baines?” he said. “A ticket-of-leave man?”