Suffice
it to say that I was spending an early summer Sunday at Brighton with my
friend Watson. We had dined well, and were enjoying our evening smoke
together upon a small balcony overlooking the water, when there came a
timid knock on the door of my room.
"'Watson,' said I, 'here comes some one for advice. Do you wish to wager a
small bottle upon it?'
"'Yes,' he answered, with a smile. 'I am thirsty and I'd like a small
bottle; and while I do not expect to win, I'll take the bet. I should like
to know, though, how you know.'
"'It is quite simple,' said I. 'The timidity of the knock shows that my
visitor is one of two classes of persons--an autograph-hunter or a client,
one of the two. You see I give you a chance to win. It may be an
autograph-hunter, but I think it is a client. If it were a creditor, he
would knock boldly, even ostentatiously; if it were the maid, she would
not knock at all; if it were the hall-boy, he would not come until I had
rung five times for him. None of these things has occurred; the knock is
the half-hearted knock which betokens either that the person who knocked
is in trouble, or is uncertain as to his reception. I am willing, however,
considering the heat and my desire to quench my thirst, to wager that it
is a client.'
"'Done,' said Watson; and I immediately remarked, 'Come in.
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