Trouble comin'." Harry had now begun to take in the situation.

It was evidently a matter of some moment or Pawson would not have been consulted.
"I'll go down myself, Todd," he said with sudden resolve.
"Better lem'me tell him you're yere, Marse Harry." "No, I'll go now," and he turned on his heel and descended the front steps.
On the street side of the house, level with the bricks, was a door opening into a low-ceiled, shabbily furnished room, where in the old days General Dorsey Temple, as has been said, shared his toddies with his cronies.

There he found St.George seated at a long table piled high with law books and papers--the top covered with a green baize cloth embroidered with mice holes and decorated with ink stains.

Beside him was a thin, light-haired, young man, with a long, flexible neck and abnormally high forehead, over-doming a shrewd but not unkindly face.
The two were poring over a collection of papers.
The young lawyer rose to his feet, a sickly, deferential smile playing along his straight lips.

Young aristocrats of Harry's blood and breeding did not often darken Pawson's door, and he was extremely anxious that his guest should in some way be made aware of his appreciation of that fact.