'Be seated, madam, I beg,' said the stranger. 'I have a word or two to
say to your son hereby, but first'--here he paused and addressed himself
to me--'prithee, lad, step to the door a moment and wait till I call for
you. Your mother and I have our gossip to get over.'

There was something so commanding in the kindliness of the stranger's
manner and voice that I made no hesitation about obeying him; so I
promptly rose and made for the shop, drawing close the door of the
parlour behind me.

I stood awhile at the outer door, looking listlessly into the street,
and wondering what the blue gentleman could have to say to my mother and
to me. Even now I can recall the whole scene distinctly, the windy High
Street, with its gleams of broken sunlight on the drying cobbles--for it
had rained a little about noon, and the black clouds were only now
sailing away towards the west and leaving blue and white sky behind
them. I can see again the signs and names of the shops opposite, can
even recall noting a girl leaning out of a window and a birdcage in an
attic.

When the door of the parlour behind me opened for the blue-coated
gentleman I noted that my mother stood with a pale face and her hands
folded. He beckoned me to him and clapped his hand on my shoulder, and
though he laid it there gentle enough, I felt that it could be as heavy
as the paw of a bear.

'My lad,' he said, gazing steadily into my face with his china-blue
eyes, 'your good mother and I have been talking over some plans of mine,
and I think I have induced her to see the advantage of my proposals. Am
I right or am I wrong in assuming you have stowed away in your body a
certain longing for the wide world?'

I suppose my eyes brightened before my lips moved, for he cut me short
with: 'There, that's all right; never waste a word when a wink will do.
Now, am I right or am I wrong in supposing that you have a good friend
whose name is Lancelot Amber?'

I was determined that I would speak this time, and I almost shouted in
my eagerness to say 'Yes.'

'That will be a good voice in a hurricane,' the blue gentleman said
approvingly. Then he began again, with the same formula, which I suppose
pleased his palate.

'Am I right or am I wrong in assuming that he has told you of a certain
old sea-dog of an uncle of his whose name is Marmaduke Amber?'

I nodded energetically, for after his comment I thought it best to hold
my tongue.

'Very good. Now, am I right or a