Dr. Mangan listened with attention.

"Tell McKinnon he'd better have him over on trial. I know him and his
requirements! The horse mightn't be able to play the piano for him!"
said the Doctor, facetiously. "I'm not afraid of _you_, Major,
but I've a great respect for Mr. McKinnon!"

"Oh, I'll tell old Mack he'll be lucky to get him," said Dick, with
his pleasant laugh; "you and I will strike the bargain!"

The approach had been pegged out, and Dr. Mangan turned, for the
moment, to other subjects.

It was a damp and sodden day near the beginning of September, and a
comfortable turf fire centralised and gave point to the room, as a
fire inevitably does. Major Talbot-Lowry was in the habit of saying
that the day of the month never warmed anybody yet, and if it was only
for the sake of the books--the truth being that the library fire at
Mount Music had never, in the memory of housemaid, been extinguished
save only when "the Major was out of home." Dick, like most
out-of-door men, considered that fresh air should be kept in its
proper place, outside the walls of the house, and an ancient
atmosphere, in which the varied scents of turf, tobacco, old books,
and old hound-couples, all had their share, filled the large, dingy
old room. Dusty and composite squirrel-hoards of objects that defy
classification, covered outlying tables, and lay in heaps on the
floor, awaiting that resurrection to useful life that Major
Talbot-Lowry's faith held would some day be theirs, and were, in the
meantime, the despair and demoralisation of housemaids.