' Only two customers
occupied the bar; the landlord stood in his shirt-sleeves, with arms
crossed, musing. At the sight of Mutimer he brightened up, and
extended his hand.
'How d'you do; how d'you do, sir?' he exclaimed. 'Glad to see you.'
The shake of the hands was a tribute to old times, the 'sir' was a
recognition of changed circumstances. Mr. Nicholas Dabbs, the
brother of Daniel, was not a man to lose anything by failure to
acknowledge social distinctions. A short time ago Daniel had
expostulated with his brother on the use of 'sir' to Mutimer,
eliciting the profound reply, 'D'you think he'd have 'ad that glass
of whisky if I'd called him Dick?'
'Dan home yet?' Mutimer inquired.
'Not been in five minutes. Come round, sir, will you? I know he
wants to see you.'
A portion of the counter was raised, and Richard passed into a
parlour behind the bar.
'I'll call him,' said the landlord.
Daniel appeared immediately.
'I want a bit of private talk,' he said to his brother. 'We'll have
this door shut, if you don't mind.'
'You may as well bring us a drop of something first, Nick,' put in
Richard. 'Give the order, Dan.'
'Wouldn't have 'ad it but for the "sir,"' chuckled Nicholas to
himself. 'Never used to when he come here, unless I stood it.'
Daniel drew a chair to the table and stirred his tumbler
thoughtfully, his nose over the steam.
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