Cool, indeed, and the room whirling round and round, like a teetotum!
"Oh, if you won't, I won't," said I confusedly; "but I--I could--drink my share of another bottle, I assure you, and not--feel the slightest...."
"I have no doubt on that point," said my neighbor, gravely; "but our French wines are deceptive, Mr. Arbuthnot, and you might possibly suffer some inconvenience to-morrow. You, as a medical man, should understand the evils of dyspepsia."
"Dy--dy--dyspepsia be hanged," I muttered, dreamily. "Tell me, friend--by the by, I forget your name. Friend what?"
"Friend Pythias," returned the stranger, drily. "You gave me the name yourself."
"Ay, but your real name?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"One name is as good as another," said he, lightly. "Let it be Pythias, for the present. But you were about to ask me some question?"
"About old Chéron," I said, leaning both elbows on the table, and speaking very confidentially. "Now tell me, have you--have you any notion of what he is like? Do you--know--know anything about him?"
"I have heard of him," he replied, intent for the moment on the pattern of his wine-glass.