"What does this mean, Hawkins?" he exclaimed, in a tone of disapproval.
The porter trembled at the implication that he had grievously failed in
his duty by allowing such an individual as Mr. Kemp to get so far within
the exclusive portals of Verney's, and in his nervousness he relaxed from
the polish of the hotel porter to his native cockney.
"This 'ere party says 'e wants to see Mr. Holymead, Sir."
The manager went through the motion of washing a spotlessly clean pair of
hands, and then brought the palms together in a gentle clap. He smiled
pityingly at Hawkins and then looked condescendingly at Mr. Kemp.
"Wants to see Mr. Holymead, does he?" he said, transferring his glance to
the worried porter. "And didn't you tell him that Mr. Holymead has gone
to the theatre and won't be back for some considerable time?"
"That's a lie!" said Mr. Kemp, who had acquired none of the art of
dealing with his fellow men, and was too uneducated to appreciate art in
any form. "I've been watching over the other side of the street, and I
saw him passing a window not ten minutes ago. I'm going to see him if I
wait here all night. I'll soon make meself comfortable on one of them big
chairs.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388