His eyes fell on the hutch
of the boy-messengers, and he beheld through the glass shutter three
heads. He crossed the road and tapped on the glass. A young man pulled
it up.
"Want to send a message, sir?"
"No. I wish to speak to one of your boys, if the one I mean is here. Ah,
there he is."
Julian pointed to his little Hermes of the midnight, who was crouched
within, uneasily sleeping, his chin nestling wearily among the medals
which his exemplary conduct had won for him. The young man shook the
child by the shoulder.
"Hulloh, Bob!" he yelled. "Here's a gentleman wants to speak to yer."
Bob came from his dreams with a jerk, and stared upon Julian with his big
brown eyes. Presently he began to realize matters.
"Want another doctor, sir? It ain't no manner of good," he remarked
airily, beginning to search for his cap, and to glow in the prospect of
another cab-ride.
"No," said Julian. "I stopped to tell you that you were wrong. The
gentleman is quite well again."
He put his hand into his pocket and produced half a crown.
"There's something for your mistake," he said.
Bob took it solemnly, and, as Julian walked on, called after him:
"It wasn't my fault, sir; it was father's."
He had more desire to shine as an intellectual authority on great
matters of dissolution than to respect the departed.
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