The gentleman's plump face bore a grave and troubled expression,
and gravity and trouble were patent in all the lines of his figure and in
every gesture; in the way he turned his head; in the uneasy shifting of
his hat from one hand to the other and in his fanning himself with it in a
nervous fashion; and in his small, blue eyes, which did not twinkle behind
his rimless glasses and looked unused to not twinkling. His gravity
clothed him like an ill-fitting coat; or, possibly, he might have reminded
the imaginative observer, just now conjured up, of a music-box set to
turning its cylinder backwards.
He spoke to an attendant, and was directed to an office, which he entered
without delay. There were five men in the room, three of them engaged in
conversation near the door; another, a young surgeon, was writing at a
desk; the fifth drowsily nodding on a sofa. The newcomer bowed as he
entered.
"Mr. Barrett?" he said inquiringly.
One of the men near the door turned about. "Yes, sir," he answered, with a
stem disfavor of the applicant; a disfavor possibly a perquisite of his
office. "What's wanted?"
"I think I have met you," returned the other. "My name is Meredith."
Mr. Barrett probably did not locate the meeting, but the name proved an
open sesame to his geniality, for he melted at once, and saying: "Of
course, of course, Mr.
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