Before returning to his official duties at No. 24 Trafalgar Square, Mr. Dodson went in quest of a chemist, whom he found a few doors up the street. Of him he purchased a pennyworth of pungent pink lozenges, which immediately he proceeded to suck. He then re-entered the premises of the eminent publishing house; but instead of going forthwith to admonish William Jordan, Junior, he proceeded to wash his face, to part his hair in the middle with much care, and to re-adjust his necktie. These preliminaries accomplished, Mr. Dodson walked very slowly and erectly up to the second storey. He entered the small ante-chamber at the head of the stairs, which was dedicated to the sole use of the vigilant guardian of these Olympian altitudes, one G. Eliot Davis. “Davis,” said Mr. Dodson, peering within, “is Mr. Octavius in his room?” “Yes, Dodson, he is,” said Mr. Davis. “Alone, Davis?” “Alone, Dodson.” “Thank you, Davis.” “Don’t mention it, Dodson.” Upon the conclusion of this exchange of courtesies, which an impartial observer might have considered as a trifle elaborated on both sides, Mr. Dodson knocked smartly and boldly, yet withal respectfully, upon the portals of Mr. Octavius Crumpett. Mr. Dodson entered the august presence briskly, but closed the door after him with delicacy and with self-possession. Mr. Octavius Crumpett was seated at the table in close proximity to the fire. Every letter and document, every book, every small article was arranged upon it with scrupulous nicety. The head of the firm was enjoying the academic pleasure of running a paper-knife through the close-pressed leaves, within a chaste and scholarly binding, of his personal translation of the Odyssey, which was to be issued to an expectant world upon the following Monday. Mr. Octavius Crumpett looked up urbanely from his insidious and alluring occupation. A slight frown of perplexity almost seemed to cloud for a moment that serene brow. In his boundless conscientiousness Mr. Octavius Crumpett conceived it to be his duty to be able to remember the name of each individual member of his staff, however lowly or obscure his station. For an instant he almost feared that he had forgotten the name of the individual before him. But this moment of doubt, of almost tremulous perplexity, which did him such credit as a man, as the head of a house of eminent publishers, as an enlightened patron of labour, passed almost as soon as it appeared, for a weak wet glint of the afternoon sun suddenly illumined the wizened countenance of the young gentleman who stood before him; and as if touched by inspiration Mr. Octavius Crumpett remembered that the name of the young gentleman was Matthew Arnold Dodson. “Well, Mr. Dodson?” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, in that tone and manner which were ever the despair and admiration of his staff.