Grabman," answered Jason, dryly; and with his handkerchief he carefully
dusted the chair, on which he then daintily deposited his person.

"But who is your Ganymede, your valet, your gentleman-usher?"

"Oh, a lad about town who lodges above and does odd jobs for me,--brushes
my coat, cleans my shoes, and after his day's work goes an errand now and
then. Make yourself scarce, Beck! Anatomy, vanish!"

Beck grinned, nodded, pulled hard at a flake of his hair, and closed the
door.

"One of your brotherhood, that?" asked Jason, carelessly.

"He, oaf? No," said Grabman, with profound contempt in his sickly
visage. "He works for his bread,--instinct! Turnspits and truffle-dogs
and some silly men have it! What an age since we met! Shall I mix you a
tumbler?"

"You know I never drink your vile spirits; though in Champagne and
Bordeaux I am any man's match."

"And how the devil do you keep old black thoughts out of your mind by
those washy potations?"

"Old black thoughts--of what?"

"Of black actions, Jason. We have not met since you paid me for
recommending the nurse who attended your uncle in his last illness."