He was speedily
accommodated with the best seat in the room. Conversation was
hushed to listen to his words; the most fragrant cup of coffee was
brought to him by the beauty of the bar herself, and his orders
were dispatched with a celerity which was lacking to any other
customer.
Small wonder was it that Tom, gazing and marvelling, asked in a
whisper of the man next him:
"Who is it?"
"Lord Claud, of course, you rustic cub," was the scornful reply,
for politeness did not distinguish Tom's new friends. "Any fool
about town could tell you that much."
"I know it is Lord Claud," answered Tom, somewhat nettled; "but who
is Lord Claud? That is what I meant by my question."
Another laugh, not a whit less scornful, was the reply to this
second query.
"He'll be a clever fellow who tells you that, young greengoose from
the country!" was the answer, only that the words used were more
offensive, and were followed by the usual garnishing of oaths and
by blasphemous allusions to Melchisedec, from which Tom gathered
that nothing was known to the world at large as to the parentage or
descent of the man they called Lord Claud, and that this title had
been bestowed upon him rather as a nickname than because it was his
by right.
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