Claudius waited a short time to see whether Mr. Barker would come; but as Claudius rarely waited for anybody, he soon grew impatient, and squeezing himself into a cab, told the driver to take him to Messrs. Screw and Scratch in Pine Street.  He was received with deference, and treated as his position demanded.  Would he like to see Mr. Silas B. Barker senior?  Very natural that he should want to make the acquaintance of his relative’s old friend and partner.  Mr. Screw was out, yes—­but Mr. Scratch would accompany him.  No trouble at all.  Better “go around right off,” as Mr. Barker would probably go to Newport by the boat that evening.  So they went “around right away,” and indeed it was a circular journey.  Down one elevator, through a maze of corridors, round crowded corners, through narrow streets, Claudius ploughing his way through billows of curbstone brokers, sad and gay, messenger-boys, young clerks, fruit vendors, disreputable-looking millionaires and gentlemanly-looking scamps, newspaper-boys, drunken Irishmen, complacent holders of preferred, and scatterbrained speculators in wild-cat, an atmosphere of tobacco smoke, dust, melons, and unintelligible jargon—­little Mr. Scratch clinging to his client’s side, nodding furiously at every other face he saw, and occasionally shouting a word of outlandish etymology, but of magic import.  Claudius almost thought it would be civil to offer to carry the little man, but when he saw how deftly Mr. Scratch got in a foot here and an elbow there, and how he scampered over any little bit of clear pavement, the Doctor concluded his new acquaintance was probably used to it.  More elevators, more passages, a glass door, still bearing the names “Barker and Lindstrand,” and they had reached their destination.

The office was on the second floor, with large windows looking over the street; there were several people in the room they first entered, and the first person Claudius saw was Mr. Barker junior, his friend.

“Well,” said Barker, “so you have found us out.  That’s right.  I was coming round to see you afterwards, for I did not suppose you would like to face ‘the street’ alone.  Father,” he said, turning to a thickset man with white hair and bushy eyebrows, “this is Dr. Claudius, Mr. Lindstrand’s nephew.”

The old gentleman looked up keenly into Claudius’s face, and smiled pleasantly as he put out his hand.  He said a few words of cordial welcome, and seemed altogether a sturdy, hearty, hardworking man of business—­rather a contrast to his son.  He hoped that Claudius would come on to Newport with Silas, as he wanted to have a long talk with him.  The old gentleman was evidently very busy, and his son took Claudius in charge.

“What is that?” asked the Doctor, looking curiously at a couple of wheels that unwound unceasingly long strips of white paper.  The paper passed through a small instrument, and came out covered with unintelligible signs, coiling itself in confusion into a waste-basket below.