Also his chin is decorated in two places with surgeon's tape and has a
thick growth of stubble on it. As I drifts in he's makin' a bum
attempt to' roll a cigarette and is gazin' disgusted at the result.
"Why didn't Bob come himself?" he demands peevish.
"Rush of business," says I. "He'd been takin' time off and the work
piled up on him."
"Humph!" says Adams. "Well, I've got to see him, that's all."
"In that case," says I, "you ought to drop around about--"
"Out of the question," says he. "Look at me. Been trying to shave
myself. Besides-- Well, I can't!"
"Mr. Robert thought," I goes on, "that you might--"
"Well?" breaks in Mr. Adams, turnin' his back on me sudden and glarin'
at the draperies. "What is it, Nivens?"
At which the valet appears, holdin' a bunch of roses.
"From Mrs. Grenville Hawks, sir," says he. "They came while you were
at breakfast, sir."
"Well, well, put them in a vase--in there," says Ham. And as Nivens
goes out he kicks the door to after him.
"Now, then," he goes on, "what was it Mr. Robert thought?"
"That you might give me a line on how things stood with you," says I,
"so he'd know just what to do."
"Eh?" growls Ham. "Tell you! Why, who the devil are you?"
"Nobody much," says I.
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