"
Hilary, who had stopped to listen out of delicacy, had a flash of
recollection. "You live in Hound Street?"
The old man answered eagerly: "Oh dear! Yes, sir--No. 1, name of Creed.
You're the gentleman where the young person goes for to copy of a book!"
"It's not my book she copies."
"Oh no; it's an old gentleman; I know 'im. He come an' see me once.
He come in one Sunday morning. 'Here's a pound o' tobacca for you!' 'e
says. 'You was a butler,' 'e says. 'Butlers!' 'e says, 'there'll be no
butlers in fifty years.' An' out 'e goes. Not quite"--he put a shaky
hand up to his head--"not quite--oh dear!"
"Some people called Hughs live in your house, I think?"
"I rents my room off o' them. A lady was a-speakin' to me yesterday
about 'em; that's not your lady, I suppose, sir?"
His eyes seemed to apostrophise Hilary's hat, which was of soft felt:
'Yes, yes--I've seen your sort a-stayin' about in the best houses.
They has you down because of your learnin'; and quite the manners of a
gentleman you've got.'
"My wife's sister, I expect."
"Oh dear! She often has a paper off o' me. A real lady--not one o'
these"--again he invited Hilary to confidence--"you know what I
mean, sir--that buys their things a' ready-made at these 'ere large
establishments. Oh, I know her well."
"The old gentleman who visited you is her father.
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