to.

So when I rings the bell up at Mr. Pettigrew's I has something besides
hot air to shove at Perkins. He qualifies in the old fam'ly servant
class right off, for as soon as he lamps the name printed on the
envelope corner he swings the door wide open, and inside of two minutes
I'm bein' announced impressive in the library at the back: "From your
attorneys, sir." Which as far as it goes is showin' some speed, eh?

Yea-uh! That's the way I felt about it. All I asked was to be put
next to this Pettigrew party. Not that I had any special spell to work
off on him; but, as Old Hickory said, he must be human, and if he was,
why-- Well, about then I begun to get the full effect of this weird,
double-barreled stare.

Now, I don't mind takin' the once-over from a single pair of
shell-rimmed goggles; but to find yourself bein' inspected through two
sets of barn windows--honest, it seemed like the room was full of
spectacles. I glanced hasty from one to the other of these
solemn-lookin' parties ranged behind the book barricade, and then takes
a chance that the one with the sharp nose and the dust-colored hair is
T. Waldo.

"Mr. Pettigrew?" says I, smilin' friendly and winnin'.

"Not at all," says he, a bit pettish.

"Oh, yes," says I, turnin' to the broken-nosed one with the wavy black
pompadour effect. "Of course."