And then suddenly the little man turned very pale, as if the
full purport of the message had been a shock to him. Dodds had done
that also, and his sympathies were all with his neighbours. Then the
stranger rose, and, leaving his breakfast untasted, he walked out of the
room.
"I'm thinkin' that the gintleman has had bad news, sorr," said the
confidential waiter.
"Looks like it," Dodds answered; and at that moment his thoughts were
suddenly drawn off into another direction.
The boots had entered the room with a telegram in his hand. "Where's
Mr. Mancune?" said he to the waiter.
"Well, there are some quare names about. What was it you said?"
"Mr. Mancune," said the boots, glancing round him. "Ah, there he is!"
and he handed the telegram to a gentleman who was sitting reading the
paper in a corner.
Dodds's eyes had already fallen upon this man, and he had wondered
vaguely what he was doing in such company. He was a tall, white-haired,
eagle-nosed gentleman, with a waxed moustache and a carefully pointed
beard--an aristocratic type which seemed out of its element among the
rough, hearty, noisy dealers who surrounded him. This, then, was Mr.
Mancune, for whom the second telegram was intended.
As he opened it, tearing it open with a feverish haste, Dodds could
perceive that it was as bulky as the first one.
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