During all this time you have stood, too tired to interrupt--too polite at least to interrupt to any purpose--until at last, reminded by the shade creeping over the apartment that the beauty of the day is vanishing, that your meditated excursion is all but hopeless, and that you have been for the space of a brilliant summer's morning a prisoner in your own house, you savagely endeavour to bring him to the point. What _does_ he want with you? Nothing; nothing of course, except a little rest after the pleasant saunter he has had--and a little refreshment also;--for when he looks at his watch (as you fondly suppose with the intention of going) he discovers that it happens to be his hour for "a snack." In short, this inveterate and uncompromising customer forcibly _has the tray up_; you haven't strength or courage to misunderstand his wishes, feeling rather faint yourself, sick of hope deferred, and inclining to potted beef. You place your hat and stick, both of which you have all this time held, upon the table; you draw off one glove; you fall-to with a famished fiend who has walked twice round the Park in the bracing air; and another hour is gone. So at length is he! And now, even now the promised stroll may be seized--the coast is clear--you feel "like a giant refreshed," and after all, you cannot help owning, that it's a horribly vulgar thing to be seen strolling about before four o'clock in the day. You remember what the delicate philosopher said about the world not being properly aired before three; and bless your stars that what you have lost in health you have gained in reputation. On go your gloves once more, and--rap goes the knocker! It seems miraculous. All society is but one spiteful conspiracy against you. You forget that the same fine morning which quickened life in you kindled the fire of motion in others. No matter; the hour has at length arrived for "not at home to any human being. No, Tim, not to a living soul!" Unluckily, it is the fate of this most inflexible decree to be countermanded; there is one exception to the rule of not at home to anybody. "If the surveyor calls about the repairs"--ay, and it _is_ the surveyor. Well, the roof, and the cracked wall, must at once be looked to; however, that will not occupy ten minutes, and to the needful business you heroically devote yourself. Half-an-hour flies, and then you are finally released; but, unhappily, just at that moment the man brings home your two new coats; you must glance at one, for you may wear it at dinner. And then crawls up to the door that dilatory fellow whose tidings about the books you have been waiting for--yes, at least for a fortnight; and while discussing with him a particular achievement in binding on which you have set your heart, a letter arrives--a letter marked "important and immediate," though of no earthly consequence, and anything but pressing; still it must be answered, and accordingly the hat