once or twice whether such and such a one had rung him up or called for him.
When, therefore, Professor Higginson came into the office and asked whether he could see Mr. Kirby, said the clerk to him, "Certainly, sir," and showed him into a room where bound copies of Punch and a Graphic three years old, also a list of bankrupts, beguiled the leisure of clients as they waited their turn.
"Will you send up your card?" added the clerk innocently.
"No," worried and feebled the Philosopher—he had no card—"say it is Professor Higginson, and that he wants to see Mr. Kirby most particularly."
"Is Mr. Kirby expecting you?" continued the clerk.
"How should I know?" said Mr. Higginson half savagely. And the mystified young man was more mystified still when, on giving the name to his employer, that employer jumped up and beamed as though he had been left a legacy, or had heard of a dear friend's return from the dead.
"Oh, show him up!" he said merrily. "Show him up! Show him up at once!" and the chief of that great business went half-way to the door to meet his visitor.
