No doubt he knew me better than I knew myself.

He used to get hold of me whilst I was hanging about the office on the chance of engaging space for Mrs.Hartly, and he used to utilise me for the ignoblest things.

I saw men for him, scribbled notes for him, abused people through the telephone, and wrote articles.

Of course, there were the pickings.
I never understood Fox--not in the least, not more than I understood Mrs.Hartly.He had the mannerisms of the most incredible vulgarian and had, apparently, the point of view of a pig.

But there was something else that obscured all that, that forced one to call him a _wonderful_ man.