"Are you in, sir?" he inquired in an utterly impersonal tone.

"In?" repeated Barnabas, with a quick downward glance at his tight

nether garments, "in?--in what?--in where?"

"Are you at 'ome, sir?"

"At home? Of course,--can't you see that?"

"Yes, sir," returned the Gentleman-in-Powder, his legs growing a

little agitated.

"Then why do you ask?"

"There is a--person below, sir."

"A person?"

"Yes, sir,--very much so! Got 'is foot in the door--wouldn't take it

out--had to let 'em in--waiting in the 'all, sir."

"What's he like, who is he?"

"Whiskers, sir,--name of Snivels,--no card!" Here might have been

observed the same agitation of the plump legs.

"Ask him to wait."

"Beg pardon, sir--did you say--to wait?" (Agitation growing.) "Yes. Say I'll be down at once." (Agitation extreme.) "Meaning as you will--see 'im, sir?" (Agitation indescribable.) "Yes," said Barnabas, "yes, of course."

The Gentleman-in-Powder bowed; his eye was calm, his brow unruffled,

but his legs!!! And his nose was more supercilious than ever as he

closed the door upon it.

Mr. Smivvle, meanwhile, was standing downstairs before a mirror,

apparently lost in contemplation of his whiskers, and indeed they

seemed to afford him a vast degree of pleasure, for he stroked them

with caressing fingers, and smiled upon them quite benevolently.

"Six pair of silver candlesticks!" he murmured. "Persian rugs!

Bric-a-brac, rare--costly pictures! He's a Nabob, by heaven,--yes he

is,--a mysterious young Nabob, wallowing in wealth! Five shillings?

--preposterous! we'll make it--ten,--and--yes, shall we say another

five for the pampered menial? By all means let us make it another

five shillings for the cursed flunkey,--here he comes!"

And indeed, at that moment the legs of the Gentleman-in-Powder might

have been descried descending the stair rather more pompously than

usual. As soon as they had become stationary, Mr. Smivvle directed a

glance at the nearest, and addressed it.

"James!" said he.

The Gentleman-in-Powder became lost in dreamy abstraction, with the

exception of his legs which worked slightly. Hereupon Mr. Smivvle

reached out and poked him gently with the head of his tasselled cane.

"Awake, James?" said he.

"Name of Harthur--if you please, sir!" retorted the

Gentleman-in-Powder, brushing away the touch of the cane, and eyeing

the place with much concern.

"If, James," continued Mr. Smivvle, belligerent of whisker,

"if you would continue to ornament this lordly mansion, James, be

more respectful, hereafter, to your master's old and tried friends,"

saying which Mr. Smivvle gave a twirl to each whisker, and turned to

inspect a cabinet of old china.

"Sevres, by George!" he murmured, "we'll make it a pound!" He was

still lost in contemplation of the luxurious appointments that

everywhere met his view, and was seriously considering the

advisability of "making it thirty shillings," when the appearance of

Barnabas cut him short, and he at once became all smiles, flourishes

and whiskers.




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