“Hush, my child,” said her mamma in a soft, drawling voice, “don’t be impatient. Show your breeding, my child, show your breeding.”
“Well, be Jove, I’d like to know who that is!” exclaimed Thomas, with some vehemence; “coming into the house like the sheriff, be Jove.”
Michael meanwhile, having probably stood still for a minute, was now heard shutting the hall door, and presently came into the drawing-room, and closing the door behind him, gave an account of the dialogue.
“Who is the man, Mike?” demanded Thomas in the imperative mood. “What does he look like?”
Michael replied that he looked like a sailor, though he was not dressed in sailor’s clothes.
“O it’s some of father’s people from the wharf,” said Horatio. “Better show him up into the library, and not have him sitting there like a scare-crow.”
“Yes, Michael, show him up into the library,” said Mrs. Atkins, “and tell him Mr. Atkins will be in soon. If it’s business, your father will want to see him, for he always sees people that come on business,” she added, in a lower tone, as Michael slid out of the room.
They were quiet again for a minute, while the heavy boots of the visitor were heard thumping up over the carpeted stairs into distance.
“Be Jove!” said Thomas, with a fierce air, “that chap goes up like one of Dan Rice’s elephants, be Jove! Now then, where’s our Southern friend? That’s the next question.”
“Mamma,” said Miss Atkins, in a soft, debilitated voice, with a slight lisp, “do you know if he’s married?”