"A most ex-tremely low person, sir--very common indeed, sir. Won't
give no name, sir, won't go away, sir. A very 'orrid person--in
gaiters, sir."
"What does he want?" said Barnabas, with head still bent.
"Says as 'ow 'e 'as a letter for you, sir, but--"
Barnabas was on his feet so quickly that the Gentleman-in-Powder
recoiled in alarm.
"Show him up--at once!"
"Oh!--cer-tainly, sir!" And though the bow of the
Gentleman-in-Powder was all that it should be, his legs quivered
disapprobation as they took him downstairs.
When next the door opened it was to admit the person in gaiters, a
shortish, broad-shouldered, bullet-headed person he was, and his
leggings were still rank of the stables; he was indeed a very horsey
person who stared and chewed upon a straw. At sight of Barnabas he
set a stubby finger to one eyebrow, and chewed faster than ever.
"You have a letter for me, I think?"
"Yessir!"
"Then give it to me."
The horsey person coughed, took out his straw, looked at it, shook
his head at it, and put it back again.
"Name o' Beverley, sir?" he inquired, chewing feverishly.
"Yes."
Hereupon the horsey person drew a letter from his pocket, chewed
over it a moment, nodded, and finally handed it to Barnabas, who,
seeing the superscription, hurriedly broke the seal.
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