of agitation. He had leaped from his chair, and was now standing in a constrained attitude, with a sort of pop-eyed expression on his face.
“Pray be seated, Sipperley,” said the cove.
He took no notice of me. After one keen glance and a brief waggle of the nose in my direction, he had washed Bertram out of his life.
“I have brought you another little offering—ha! Look it over at your leisure, my dear fellow.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sippy.
“I think you will enjoy it. But there is just one thing. I should be glad, Sipperley, if you would give it a leetle better display, a rather more prominent position in the paper than you accorded to my ‘Landmarks of Old Tuscany.’ I am quite aware that in a weekly journal space is a desideratum, but one does not like one’s efforts to be—I can only say pushed away in a back corner among advertisements of bespoke tailors and places of amusement.” He paused, and a nasty gleam came into his eyes. “You will bear this in mind, Sipperley?”
“Yes, sir,” said Sippy.
“I am greatly obliged, my dear fellow,” said the cove, becoming genial again. “You must forgive my mentioning it. I would be the last person to attempt to dictate the—ha!—editorial policy, but—Well, good afternoon, Sipperley. I will call