“No, no!” said Mr. Doubleday, refusing with something of haughtiness Erb’s further offer. “I have a match, thank you. I have no desire to be indebted for anything,” he drew hard at his pipe, “for anything which I myself possess.”
“Independent old beggar, ain’t he?” whispered Spanswick.
“My friend here gives me to understand—and I have no doubt that his information is per-fectly correct—that you have adopted this attitude because a female relative—a sister, if I mistake not—”
“A sister,” admitted Erb.
“Has suffered grievously. Assuming that to be the case, I can only say that I am proud to grasp your hand, sir, and that I desire your acquaintance.”
“It ain’t many that he’d say that to,” whispered Spanswick.
“I want all the friends I’ve got just now,” said Erb.
“The lines of Longfellow,” said Mr. Doubleday condescendingly, “spring readily to one’s mind.” The hammer of the auctioneer went down with a startling crack; something that he said made the group of men laugh, and Erb was called by them to hear it. “We can make our lives sublime, and um-tee, umpty, umpty, umpty—footsteps on the sands of time,” quoted Mr. Doubleday.
“I must hop off,” said Spanswick. “Hasn’t he got a marvellous memory?”
“You’ll take your friend with you?” said Erb.