It did not; it was a reply to his advertisement.
"J-- is requested to call to-morrow, at 10 a.m., on Mr Trotter, 6, Porson Square, in reference to his advertisement for literary work." With some trepidation, and no particular expectations, Jeffreys presented himself at the appointed time, and found himself face to face with a testy little gentleman, with by no means large pretensions to literary authority.
He took in the shabby-looking advertiser at a glance, and suited his tone accordingly.
"So you're the chap, are you?
You're the nice educated literary chap that wants a job, eh ?" "I am." "What can you do?
Write poetry ?" "I never tried." "Write 'istory, or 'igh hart, and that sort of thing ?" "I have not tried.

I know mostly about bibliography." "Bibli--who?
You'll turn your 'and to anything for a crust, I suppose.
Do you ever do anything in the puff line ?" Jeffreys admitted he had not.
"'Cos I want a chap to crack up my `Polyglot Pickle' in proper literary style.

None of your commonplace maunderings, but something smart and startling.

What do you say?
Can you do it or not ?" Jeffreys heart sank low.

"I'll try--" "Can you do it ?" demanded the proud inventor.
"Yes," said Jeffreys desperately.
"All right," said Mr Trotter, greatly relieved.