Butts and I studied the paper that Sir William had given me, with the greatest attention. I soon gathered that the six gentlemen who were to dine with my master were not members of the smart set of society such as Butts called "tip-toppers," but men of intellectual attainment, and leaders of thought, if not of fashion. Butts knew them all. "They belong to Sir William's club, the 'Athenian,'" he remarked. "This here Sir Charles Venner who's to take the seat of honour is a cove what cuts up dead dogs and such like while they are alive." "A vivisectionist?" I asked smiling. "Don't know what you call 'em," responded Butts. "But he's doctor, and so is Mr. Fulton, who is to sit opposite on master's left. The next chap on the right--Luke Humphreys--is a hauthor, on political economy. Mr. Husband is the chap who wrote that article in the _National Review_ on the weakness of the Navy, which kicked up such a blessed fuss a while since. You must have heard of him?" "Oh, yes." "Well, George Cavanagh is an artist and a R.A. Master has one of his pictures in the dining room--you'll see it presently: a naked woman with a chap--'Love and Death' it's called." I had much ado not to laugh outright. "I've seen prints of it," I muttered. "Who is the last, Mr. Nevil Pardoe, Butts?" "He's a playwright," answered Butts with a sigh. "They're playin' one of his pieces now at the Kensington Theatre. I went there the other night and got my pocket picked for my trouble." He kicked over a chair as he spoke, as if carried away by temper in remembering his misfortune. The bell rang on instant. "Oh, Lor!" groaned Butts. "I'm in for it again, that man has the ears of a mole!" He came back a few minutes later looking very sour. "Called me a clod hopper!" he growled in a low voice. "He's got a reptile tongue. But come upstairs, Brown, and I'll show you his bedroom--an' where he keeps his clothes an' things!" It was an immense apartment, magnificently furnished. But it was very untidy and medicine bottles, some full, some empty, crowded the mantelpiece and dressing tables. The place smelt like a druggist's store. "I'll clear that rubbish away first thing," I declared. But the footman seized my arm as I caught up the first bottle. "He'd go ravin' stark starin' mad if one of them was shifted," he cried. "Don't you touch 'em, lad." I shrugged my shoulders, and watched Butts ransack our master's wardrobe, he explaining to me the while certain preferences in matters of taste and dress which Sir William had always manifested. It appeared that he detested colours. All his suits were black, also his boots and gloves. "You seem to know him so well, Butts," I remarked at last, "that I wonder more and more why he has not made you his valet." "It's my haccent!" sighed Butts. "He can't abear it. Whenever I drop a haitch, in his 'earing, he shrivels up." During the afternoon I borrowed half a sovereign from Butts, and purchased some fresh linen.