An ink-stained table, littered with pens, papers, and almanacs, an American cloth sofa, three chairs of varying patterns, and a much-worn carpet, constituted all the furniture, save only a very large and obtrusive porcelain spittoon, and a gaudily framed and very somber picture which hung above the fireplace.

Sitting in front of this picture, and staring gloomily at it, as being the only thing which he could stare at, was a small sallow-faced boy with a large head, who in the intervals of his art studies munched sedately at an apple.
"Is Mr.Smith or Mr.Hanbury in ?" asked the Admiral.
"There ain't no such people," said the small boy.
"But you have the names on the door." "Ah, that is the name of the firm, you see.

It's only a name.

It's Mr.
Reuben Metaxa that you wants." "Well then, is he in ?" "No, he's not." "When will he be back ?" "Can't tell, I'm sure.

He's gone to lunch.