he followed Scott to his study. The classical parallel to his situation
is the well-known case of the oysters. They, too, were eager for the
treat.

They had reached the study, and Pillingshot was about to fling himself,
with a sigh of relief, into the most comfortable chair, when Scott
unmasked his batteries.

'Oh, by the way,' he said, with a coolness which to Pillingshot
appeared simply brazen, 'I'm afraid my fag won't be here today. The
young crock's gone and got mumps, or the plague, or something. So would
you mind just lighting that stove? It'll be rather warm, but that won't
matter. There are some muffins in the cupboard. You might weigh in with
them. You'll find the toasting-fork on the wall somewhere. It's hanging
up. Got it? Good man. Fire away.'

And Scott collected five cushions, two chairs, and a tin of mixed
biscuits, and made himself comfortable. Pillingshot, with feelings too
deep for words (in the then limited state of his vocabulary), did as he
was requested. There was something remarkable about the way Scott could
always get people to do things for him. He seemed to take everything
for granted. If he had had occasion to hire an assassin to make away
with the German Emperor, he would have said, 'Oh, I say, you might run
over to Germany and kill the Kaiser, will you, there's a good chap?
Don't be long.' And he would have taken a seat and waited, without the
least doubt in his mind that the thing would be carried through as
desired.

Pillingshot had just finished toasting the muffins, when the door
opened, and Venables, of Merevale's, came in.