This made its bareness all the more apparent; for, with the exception of having a long table stretching from end to end--now covered with a semi-brownish white table-cloth, and cups and saucers and plates, not forgetting a monstrous big tin teapot like a Chinese junk, in the centre, and a couple of narrow deal forms without backs placed on either side for seats--the apartment had no other furniture, a broad shelf attached to the wall opposite the fireplace serving as a buffet, and an armchair at the head of the festal board, for the presiding master, completing its equipment.
Tom had whispered to me as we went up-stairs that either "Smiley" or "The Cobbler" would officiate at the tea-table, those two worthies taking that duty in turn; but this evening, strange to say, whether in honour of my arrival or on account of some other weighty motive, the seat of honour at the end of the table was filled by the portly form of the head of the establishment.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Tom, sliding into a vacant place along the form nearest the door, and motioning to me to follow his example, "something's up, or he wouldn't be here!" Tom's supposition proved correct.
Something was "up" with a vengeance--at least as far as I was concerned..