“I have a notion to wake him,” suggested Sinclair.
“It will not be necessary,” said I, drawing back, as the heavy figure stirred, breathed heavily, and finally sat up.
“I beg pardon,” I now entreated, backing politely away. “We thought the room empty.”
Mr. Armstrong, who, if slow to receive impressions, is far from lacking intelligence, eyed us with sleepy indifference for a moment, then rose ponderously to his feet, and was on the instant the man of manner and unfailing courtesy we had ever found him.
“What can I do to oblige you?” he asked, his smooth, if hesitating, tones sounding strange to our excited ears.
I made haste to forestall Sinclair, who was racking his brains for words with which to propound the question he dared not put too boldly.
“Pardon me, Mr. Armstrong, we were l
