face, and his eyes, which were reddish in colour (horrible thought!), glared like coals. His greeting was not friendly, but it was at least direct.
"You got me into this, Kirby," he shouted by way of good morning, "and you 've got to get me out!"
If Mr. Kirby disliked business, he certainly loved an adventure. His permanent smile grew more lively. His sinewy neck seemed to shorten, he thrust his determined chin a trifle forward, and said with a wave of his hand—
"Pray sit down, Mr. Postlethwaite, I am entirely at your service."
"I 'll not sit down," roared the redoubtable Postlethwaite. "You got me into this, and you 've got to get me out!"
"And of which," said Mr. Kirby, in a tone of intelligent politeness, "of which of your tomfooleries may you be speaking?"
Mr. Postlethwaite, like most of his kind, was rather relieved by insults than fired by them.
"I 'll show you," he said fiercely, but in a more business-like tone than before. "You 'll see! … And when you 've seen, I 'll thank you to think twice before you get me in a worse hole than ever," and as he said
