This
was Webster, Mr. Bennett's English valet.
"Is that Mr. Mortimer?" he barked, as the door opened.
"No, sir. It is I--Webster." Not even the annoyance of being summoned
like this from an absorbing game of penny nap in the housekeeper's room
had the power to make the valet careless of his grammar. "I fancied
that I heard your bell ring, sir."
"I wonder you could hear anything with that infernal noise going on,"
snapped Mr. Bennett, "Is Mr. Mortimer playing that--that damned
gas-engine in the drawing-room?"
"Yes, sir. Tosti's Goodbye. A charming air, sir."
"Charming air be--! Tell him to stop it."
"Very good, sir."
The valet withdrew like a duke leaving the royal presence, not actually
walking backwards, but giving the impression of doing so. Mr. Bennett
lay in bed and fumed. Presently the valet returned. The music still
continued to roll about the room.
"I am sorry to have to inform you, sir," said Webster, "that Mr.
Mortimer declines to accede to your request.
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