Presently they heard Michael shuffling along through the hall, and then the hall door opening.
“Is Mr. Atkins in?” demanded a resonant, loud voice, which was heard in the drawing-room.
A moment’s silence, and Michael’s reply inaudible.
“Will he be in soon?”
Another silence, and Michael’s reply again inaudible.
“Well, I’ll wait for him.”
Michael was heard this time, explaining in a thin key that Mr. Atkins had company, and wouldn’t wish to see him.
“Can’t help that,” was the bluff answer, followed by heavy feet stamping into the hall, and the dump of a heavy body flinging itself on one of the hall chairs. “It’s a matter of business, and he won’t thank you if I don’t see him. Mind that, my man.”
“Humbug!” blurted out Horatio, taking up his book again. “It’s not him.”
“O fiddlestick!” was the elegant exclamation of Julia, in a pet, “he’s not coming at all.”