I've found
out a little place in Jermyn Street where I go now when I have time.
We can talk there."
Burton nodded. He was, as a matter of fact, intensely interested. Only
a few weeks ago, his late employer had spent nearly every moment of his
time, when his services were not urgently required at the office, at the
Golden Lion, and he had been seen on more than one occasion at the
theatre and elsewhere with one or another of the golden-haired ladies
behind the bar. Mr. Waddington--fortunately, perhaps, considering his
present predicament!--was a bachelor.
The restaurant, if small, was an excellent one, and Mr. Waddington, who
seemed already to be treated with the consideration of a regular
customer, ordered a luncheon which, simple though it was, inspired his
companion with respect. The waiter withdrew and the auctioneer and his
quondam clerk sat and looked at one another. Their eyes were full of
questions. Mr. Waddington made a bad lapse.
"What in hell do you suppose it all means, Burton?" he demanded. "You
see, I've got it too!"
"Obviously," Burton answered. "I am sure," he added, a little
hesitatingly, "that I congratulate you."
Mr. Waddington at that moment looked scarcely a subject for
congratulation.
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