It finds me, in a manner of speaking, unprepared."
He ran a finger around the edge of his saucer after the manner of one
performing on the musical glasses, and threw a hunted glance at the
window, as though for a way of escape. "My name, ladies, is
Branscome. I was once well-to-do, and commanded a packet in the
service of his Majesty's Postmasters-General. But times have altered
with me, and I am now an usher in a school, and a very poor man."
He paused; looked up at Miss Belcher, who had squared her elbows on
the table in very unladylike fashion; and cleared his throat before
proceeding--
"You will excuse me for mentioning this, but it is an essential part
of my story."
"The Stimcoes," suggested Miss Belcher, "didn't pay up--eh?"
"Mr. Stimcoe--though a scholar, ma'am--has suffered from time to time
from pecuniary embarrassment."
"--Traceable to drink," interpolated Miss Belcher, with a nod towards
Plinny. "No, sir; you need not look at Harry: _he_ has told us
nothing. I formed my own conclusions."
"Mrs. Stimcoe, ma'am--for I should tell you she keeps the purse--is
too often unable to make two ends meet, as the saying is. I believe
she paid when she could, but somehow my salary has always been in
arrear.
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