"Is that so?" said Mr. Crewe. He wanted to be of service, as we know. He was a man of ideas, and the opening sentences of the speech were already occurring to him.
"Let's go upstairs and see the general now," suggested Mr. Botcher, smiling that such a happy thought should have occurred to him.
"Why, I guess we couldn't do any better," Mr. Bascom agreed.
"Well," said Mr. Crewe, "I'm willing to hear what he's got to say, anyway."
Taking advantage of this generous concession, Mr. Botcher hastily locked the door, and led the way up the stairway to number seventy-five. After a knock or two here, the door opened a crack, disclosing, instead of General Doby's cherubic countenance, a sallow face with an exceedingly pointed nose. The owner of these features, having only Mr. Botcher in his line of vision, made what was perhaps an unguarded remark.
"Hello, Jake, the general's in number nine--Manning sent for him about half an hour ago."
It was Mr. Botcher himself who almost closed the door on the gentleman's sharp nose, and took Mr. Crewe's arm confidingly.
"We'll go up to the desk and see Doby in the morning,--he's busy," said the Honourable Jake.