I had no time to drink from it, however, for just as I was raising it to my lips Mr. Macfarlane's paper ball dropped from the ceiling into the liquor.
"Bunkered, by God!" cried Mr. Macfarlane, amidst a shout of laughter.
I looked at Macfarlane with some reserve.
"I don't understand," I began.
"Don't move, man!" cried he, as he forced me back into my chair, and dropping the fire-irons with a clatter on to the floor, he tried to scoop the ball out of the glass with the point of Clutterbuck's sword-sheath. He missed the glass; the sheath caught me full on the knuckles; I opened my hand and----
"Sir, you have ruined my game," said Mr. Macfarlane, with considerable heat.
"And a good thing too," said I, "for a sillier game I never saw in all my life."
"Gentlemen," cried Lieutenant Clutterbuck, though he did not articulate the word with his customary precision; but his intentions were undoubtedly pacific. He happened to be holding the last of his decanters in his hand, and he swung it to and fro. "Gentlemen," he repeated, and as if to keep me company, he let the decanter slip out of his hand. It fell on the floor and split with a loud noise. "Well," said he, solemnly, "I have dropped a brooch," and he fumbled at his cravat.
Another peal of laughter went up; and while it was still ringing, a man--what his name was I cannot remember, even if I ever knew it; I saw him for the first time that evening, and I have only once seen him since, but he was certainly--more sober than the rest--stooped over my chair and caught me by the arm.
"Steve," said he, with a chuckle,--and from this familiarity to a new acquaintance I judge he was not so sober after all,--"do you notice the door?"