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Page 38
"That's right, lad," replied the visitor, speaking with a marked
Manchester accent; "from Mr. Jarvis."
"And are you really going up?" inquired the boy with mock
solicitude.
"I'm going up right enough. That's what I'm here for."
"Shut up, Chivers," snapped the hall porter. "Ring the bell." He
glanced at the cobbler. "Second floor," he said, tersely, and
resumed his study of a newspaper which he had been reading.
The representative of Mr. Jarvis was carried up to the second
floor and the lift man, having indicated at which door he should
knock, descended again. The cobbler's nervousness thereupon
became more marked than ever, so that a waiter, seeing him
looking helplessly from door to door, took pity on him and
inquired for whom he was searching.
"His excellency," was the reply; "but I'm hanged if I can
remember the number or how to pronounce his name."
The waiter glanced at him oddly. "Ormuz Khan," he said, and rang
the bell beside a door. As he hurried away, "Good luck!" he
called back.
There was a short interval, and then the door was opened by a man
who looked like a Hindu. He wore correct morning dress and
through gold-rimmed pince-nez he stared inquiringly at the
caller.
"Is his excellency at home?" asked the latter. "I'm from Mr.
Jarvis, the bootmaker."
"Oh!" said the other, smiling slightly. "Come in. What is your
name?"
"Parker, sir. From Mr. Jarvis."
As the door closed, Parker found himself in a small lobby. Beside
an umbrella rack a high-backed chair was placed. "Sit down," he
was directed. "I will tell his excellency that you are here."
A door was opened and closed again, and Parker found himself
alone. He twirled his bowler hat, which he held in his hand, and
stared about the place vacantly. Once he began to whistle, but
checked himself and coughed nervously. Finally the Hindu
gentleman reappeared, beckoning to him to enter.
Parker stood up very quickly and advanced, hat in hand.
Then he remembered the box which he had left on the floor, and,
stooping to recover it, he dropped his hat. But at last, leaving
his hat upon the chair and carrying the box under his arm, he
entered a room which had been converted into a very businesslike
office.
There was a typewriter upon a table near the window at which
someone had evidently been at work quite recently, and upon a
larger table in the centre of the room were dispatch boxes, neat
parcels of documents, ledgers, works of reference, and all the
evidence of keen commercial activity. Crossing the room, the
Hindu rapped upon an inner door, opened it, and standing aside,
"The man from the bootmaker," he said in a low voice.
Parker advanced, peering about him as one unfamiliar with his
surroundings. As he crossed the threshold the door was closed
behind him, and he found himself in a superheated atmosphere
heavy with the perfume of hyacinths.
The place was furnished as a sitting room, but some of its
appointments were obviously importations. Its keynote was
orientalism, not of that sensuous yet grossly masculine character
which surrounds the wealthy Eastern esthete but quite markedly
feminine. There were an extraordinary number of cushions, and
many bowls and vases containing hyacinths. What other strange
appointments were present Parker was far too nervous to observe.
He stood dumbly before a man who lolled back in a deep, cushioned
chair and whose almond-shaped eyes, black as night, were set
immovably upon him. This man was apparently young. He wore a
rich, brocaded robe, trimmed with marten fur, and out of it his
long ivory throat rose statuesquely. His complexion was likewise
of this uniform ivory colour, and from his low smooth brow his
hair was brushed back in a series of glossy black waves.
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