I knew that Fox had spoken well of me to Polehampton--as a sort of set off.
"You go and see Mr.P.," he confirmed; "it's really all arranged.

And then get off to Paris as fast as you can and have a good time." "Have I been unusually cranky lately ?" I asked.
"Oh, you've been a little off the hooks, I thought, for the last week or so." He took up a large bottle of white mucilage, and I accepted it as a sign of dismissal.

I was touched by his solicitude for my health.

It always did touch me, and I found myself unusually broad-minded in thought as I went down the terra-cotta front steps into the streets.

For all his frank vulgarity, for all his shirt-sleeves--I somehow regarded that habit of his as the final mark of the Beast--and the Louis Quinze accessories, I felt a warm good-feeling for the little man.
I made haste to see Polehampton, to beard him in a sort of den that contained a number of shelves of books selected for their glittering back decoration.