The father first recovered. He went on as if his son was not present.
“Who are you, sir, I say, who come to my quiet office with this blackguard noise? If you don’t tell me on the spot, I will take you by the scruff of your miserable little neck and drop you over the banisters.”
His client, whose eyes at first were blinded by excess of wrath, now perceived to his amazement that Mr. Crediton was none other than his friend’s father, whom, indeed, he had met at the family mansion in Pembridge Crescent.
“Good Lord!” he cried, “it’s--it’s Mr. Campaigne!”--he glanced from father to son, and back again--“Mr. Campaigne!”
“And why not, sir--why not? Answer me that.”
Again the ruler descended with a sickening resonance.
“Oh, I don’t know why not. How should I know?” the intruder stammered. “It’s no concern of mine, I’m sure.”
“Then come to the point. What speech? What name? What for?”
“The Company of Cartmakers. The speech that you sent me--it arrived by post.”
“A very good speech, too. I did send it. Much too good for you or for the fee you paid. I remember it. What is the matter with it? How dare you complain of it!”
“The matter, sir--the matter,” he stammered, feeling much inclined to sit down and cry, “is that you sent the same speech to the proposer. Mine was the reply. The same speech--do you hear?--the same speech to the proposer as to me, who had to reply. Now, sir, do you realise---- Oh, I am not afraid of your ruler, I say;” but his looks belied his words. “Do you understand the enormity of your conduct?”
“Impossible! How could I do such a thing--I who have never made a mistake before in all my professional career?” He looked hard at his son, and repeated the words “professional career.” “Are you sure of what you say?” He laid down his ruler with a very serious air. “Are you quite sure?”
“Certain. The same speech, word for word. Everything--every single thing--was taken out of my mouth; I hadn’t a word to say.”
“How did that happen, I wonder? Stay, I have type-written copies of both speeches--the toast and the reply. Yes, yes, I always keep one copy. I am afraid I do understand how I may have blundered.” He opened a drawer, and turned over some papers. “Ah, yes, yes. Dear me! I sent out the second copy of your speech to the other man instead of his own. Here is his own duplicate--the two copies--which fully explains it. Dear, dear! Tut, tut, tut! I fear you were unable to rise to the occasion and make up a little speech for yourself?”