He had only forgotten to remove them from the tray.
Jack kept straight on; these differences between the master and Parkins were of daily occurrence.
"And, Uncle Arthur, I met the most wonderful gentleman I ever saw; he looked just as if he had stepped out of an old frame, and yet he is down in the Street every day and--" "What firm ?" "No firm, he is--" "Curbstone man, then ?" Here Breen lifted the cup to his lips and as quickly put it down.

"Parkins!" "Yes, sir," came the monotone.
"Why the devil can't I get my coffee hot ?" "Is it cold, sir ?"--slight modulation, but still lifeless.
"IS IT COLD?
Of course it's cold! Might have been standing in a morgue.
Take that down and have some fresh coffee sent up.

Servants running o'er each other and yet I can't get a--Go on, Jack! I didn't mean to interrupt, but I'll clean the whole lot of 'em out of here if I don't get better service." "No, Uncle Arthur, he isn't a banker--isn't even a broker; he's only a paying teller in a bank," continued Jack.
The older man turned his head and a look of surprise swept over his round, fat face.
"Teller in a BANK ?" he asked in an altered tone.
"Yes, the most charming, the most courteous old gentleman I have ever met; I haven't seen anybody like him since I left home, and, just think, he has promised to come and see me to-night." The drooping lips straightened and a shrewd, searching glance shot from Arthur Breen's eyes.

There was a brain behind this sleepy face--as many of his competitors knew.

It was not always in working order, but when it was the man became another personality.
"Jack--" The voice was now as thin as the drawn lips permitted, with caution in every tone, "you stop short off.