and Andre had gone to dress the
hair of Elinora Checkynshaw. The banker was annoyed, vexed, angry. He
wanted to see the boy who had left the office with the man
"well-dressed, rowdyish, foppish." He did not know where Leo lived, and
the barber had no business to be where he could not put his hand on him
when wanted. Impatiently he drew on his overcoat, rushed out of the
office, and rushed into the shop of Cutts & Stropmore. Mr. Cutts did
not know where Andre lived, and Mr. Stropmore did not know. Andre was
always at the shop when he was wanted there, and they had no occasion
to know where he lived. Probably they had known; if they had, they had
forgotten. It was somewhere in High Street, or in some street or court
that led out of High Street, or somewhere near High Street; at any
rate, High Street was in the direction.

There was nothing in this very definite information that afforded Mr.
Checkynshaw a grain of comfort. He was excited; but, without telling
the barbers what the matter was, he rushed up State Street, up Court
Street, up Pemberton Square, to his residence. He wanted a carriage;
but of course there was no carriage within hailing distance, just
because he happened to want one. He reached his home out of breath; but
then his key to the night-latch would not fit, just because he was
excited and in a hurry.

He rang the bell furiously. Lawrence, the man servant, was eating his
dinner, and he stopped to finish his pudding. The banker rang again;
but Lawrence, concluding the person at the door was a pedler, with
needles or a new invention to sell, finished the pudding--pedlers ring
with so much more unction than other people. The banker rang again.
Fortunately for the banker, more fortunately for himself, Lawrence had
completely disposed of the pudding, and went to the door.

"What are you about, you blockhead? Why don't you open the door when I
ring?" stormed the banker.

"I think the bell must be out of order, sir," pleaded Lawrence, who had
heard it every time it rang.

"Go and get a carriage, quick! If you are gone five minutes I'll
discharge you!" added the great man, fiercely, as he rushed into the
parlor.

"You are late to dinner," said Mrs. Checkynshaw.

"Don't talk to me about dinner! Where is Elinora?"

"Why, what is the matter?" asked the lady, not a little alarmed by the
violent manner of the husband.

"Matter enough! Where is Elinora? Answer me, and don't be all day about
it!"

"In her