“Sir to you.”
“Do I understand that some one has called to see me?”
“Mr. West,” confessed Miss Langley, with a burst of frankness, “some one has called to see you.”
“Then,” said Myddleton West, definitely, “show them up.”
“It isn’t a them, sir, it’s only a bit of a lad.”
“Very well, show him up.”
West finished the sentence which he had commenced, and then, hearing a slipping footstep, swung round in his chair again. A boy in a long worn frock-coat, his bowler hat dented, stood at the doorway, white of face, his under lip not quite under control.
“Wha’ cheer?” said the boy with an effort to appear at ease. “How goes it with you?”
“Wait a bit,” said Myddleton West, rising and standing in front of the fireplace. “Let me see now if I can remember you. Take off your hat.” West dropped his pince-nez and peered across the room at the boy. “I’ll have three shots,” he said presently. “Your name is Cumberland.”
“Not a bit like it.”