“Ah, Eames,—­yes,” said Sir Raffle, looking up from his desk when the young man entered; “just wait half a minute, will you?” And the knight went to work at his papers, as though fearing that any delay in what he was doing might be very prejudicial to the nation at large.  “Ah, Eames,—­well,—­yes,” he said again, as he pushed away from him, almost with a jerk, the papers on which he had been writing.  “They tell me that you know the business of this office pretty well.”

“Some of it, sir,” said Eames.

“Well, yes; some of it.  But you’ll have to understand the whole of it if you come to me.  And you must be very sharp about it too.  You know that FitzHoward is leaving me?”

“I have heard of it, sir.”

“A very excellent young man, though perhaps not—­ But we won’t mind that.  The work is a little too much for him, and he’s going back into the office.  I believe Lord De Guest is a friend of yours; isn’t he?”

“Yes; he is a friend of mine, certainly.  He’s been very kind to me.”

“Ah, well.  I’ve known the earl for many years,—­for very many years; and intimately at one time.  Perhaps you may have heard him mention my name?”

“Yes, I have, Sir Raffle.”

“We were intimate once, but those things go off, you know.  He’s been the country mouse and I’ve been the town mouse.  Ha, ha, ha!  You may tell him that I say so.  He won’t mind that coming from me.”

“Oh, no; not at all,” said Eames.

“Mind you tell him when you see him.  The earl is a man for whom I’ve always had a great respect,—­a very great respect,—­I may say regard.  And now, Eames, what do you say to taking FitzHoward’s place?  The work is hard.  It is fair that I should tell you that.  The work will, no doubt, be very hard.  I take a greater share of what’s going than my predecessors have done; and I don’t mind telling you that I have been sent here, because a man was wanted who would do that.”  The voice of Sir Raffle, as he continued, became more and more harsh, and Eames began to think how wise FitzHoward had been.  “I mean to do my duty, and I shall expect that my private secretary will do his.  But, Mr Eames, I never forget a man.  Whether he be good or bad, I never forget a man.  You don’t dislike late hours, I suppose.”

“Coming late to the office you mean?  Oh, no, not in the least.”

“Staying late,—­staying late.  Six or seven o’clock if necessary, putting your shoulder to the wheel when the coach gets into the mud.  That’s what I’ve been doing all my life.  They’ve known what I am very well.  They’ve always kept me for the heavy roads.  If they paid, in the Civil Service, by the hour, I believe I should have drawn a larger income than any man in it.  If you take the vacant chair in the next room you’ll find it’s no joke.  It’s only fair that I should tell you that.”

“I can work as hard as any man,” said Eames.