It was about two o'clock in the afternoon that Barnabas knocked at
the door of the Viscount's chambers in Half-moon Street and was duly
admitted by a dignified, albeit somewhat mournful gentleman in blue
and silver, who, after a moment of sighing hesitancy, ushered him
into a small reception room where sat a bullet-headed man with one
eye and a remarkably bristly chin, a sinister looking person who
stared very hard with his one eye, and sucked very hard, with much
apparent relish and gusto, at the knob of the stick he carried. At
sight of this man the mournful gentleman averted his head, and
vented a sound which, despite his impressive dignity, greatly
resembled a sniff, and, bowing to Barnabas, betook himself upstairs
to announce the visitor. Hereupon the one-eyed man having surveyed
Barnabas from head to foot with his solitary orb, drew the knob of
his stick from his mouth, dried it upon his sleeve, looked at it,
gave it a final rub, and spoke.
"Sir," said he in a jovial voice that belied his sinister aspect,
"did you 'ear that rainbow sniff?"
"Rainbow?" said Barnabas.
"Well,--wallet, then,--footman--the ornamental cove as jest popped
you in 'ere. Makes one 'undred and eleven of 'em!"
"One hundred and eleven what?"
"Sniffs, sir,--s-n-i-double-f-s! I've took the trouble to count 'em,
--nothing else to do. I ain't got a word out of 'im yet, an' I've
been sittin' 'ere ever since eight o'clock s'mornin'. I'm a
conwivial cock, I am,--a sociable cove, yes, sir, a s-o-s-h-able
cove as ever wore a pair o' boots. Wot I sez is,--though a bum, why
not a sociable bum, and try to make things nice and pleasant, and I
does my best, give you my word! But Lord! all my efforts is wasted
on that 'ere rainbow--nothing but sniffs!"
"Why then--who--what are you?"
"I'm Perks and Condy, wines and sperrits,--eighty-five pound,
eighteen, three--that's me, sir."
"Do you mean that you are--in possession--here?"
"Just that, sir,--ever since eight o'clock s'morning--and nothing
but sniffs--so fur." Here the bullet-headed man nodded and eyed the
knob of his stick hungrily. But at this moment the door opened, and
the dignified (though mournful) gentleman appeared, and informed
Barnabas (with a sigh) that "his Lordship begged Mr. Beverley would
walk upstairs."
Upstairs accordingly Barnabas stepped, and guided by a merry
whistling, pushed open a certain door, and so found the Viscount
busily engaged in the manufacture of a paper dart, composed of a
sheet of the Gazette, in the midst of which occupation he paused to
grip Barnabas by the hand.