“He’s crazy on acting,” said Somers, lighting his pipe. “Thinks he’s the equal of anybody almost. It doesn’t matter with us, but I won’t let him go to the old man. And he won’t mind so long as he gets an opportunity of acting to us.”
“Well, I hope he’ll hurry up,” said Malcolm, yawning; “it’s after twelve now.”
Nearly half an hour passed. Malcolm drew his watch from his pocket and was busy winding it, when George, the waiter, who had been sent on an errand to the bar, burst suddenly into the room and rushed towards them.
“’E’s comin’, gentlemen,” he said breathlessly.
“Why, you’re frightened, George,” said the stout commercial, with a chuckle.
“It was the suddenness of it,” said George, sheepishly; “and besides, I didn’t look for seein’ ’im in the bar. There’s only a glimmer of light there, and ’e was sitting on the floor behind the bar. I nearly trod on ’im.”
“Oh, you’ll never make a man, George,” said Malcolm.
“Well, it took me unawares,” said the waiter. “Not that I’d have gone to the bar by myself if I’d known ’e was there, and I don’t believe you would either, sir.”
“Nonsense!” said Malcolm. “I’ll go and fetch him in.”
“You don’t know what it’s like, sir,” said George, catching him by the sleeve. “It ain’t fit to look at by yourself, it ain’t, indeed. It’s got the—What’s that?”