He was carefully ticking them off on a list when a clerk came down the yard.
"Mr.Kitely called to pay his rent, sir," he announced.

"He asked to see you yourself." "Twenty-five--six--seven," counted Cotherstone.

"Take him into the private office, Stoner," he answered.

"I'll be there in a minute." He continued his checking until it was finished, entered the figures on his list, and went briskly back to the counting-house near the gateway.
There he bustled into a room kept sacred to himself and Mallalieu, with a cheery greeting to his visitor--an elderly man who had recently rented from him a small house on the outskirts of the town.
"Afternoon, Mr.Kitely," he said.

"Glad to see you, sir--always glad to see anybody with a bit of money, eh?
Take a chair, sir--I hope you're satisfied with the little place, Mr.Kitely ?" The visitor took the offered elbow-chair, folded his hands on the top of his old-fashioned walking-cane, and glanced at his landlord with a half-humorous, half-quizzical expression.