“Ah, so I thought.”
The doctor unlocked a cupboard, and took from it about two thirds of a cold boiled ham, a loaf of bread and sundry other articles, which he placed before Bill, inviting him to fall to and help himself.
The starving man needed no second invitation; he ate most ravenously. Meanwhile the doctor, rummaging in the cupboard, brought forth more eatables, which he placed before his guest.
After the gipsy had satisfied his hunger a glass of warm grog was mixed by his benefactor, which the gipsy was nothing loth to partake of.
He was, however, greatly puzzled at the reception he met with—it was altogether so much out of the common order of things, and he was curious to ascertain in what way his services were required, for he was acute enough to divine that all these attentions were not shown him without some ulterior object.
“Ahem—you spoke of some service, something you required me to do. May I ask its nature?” observed the gipsy carelessly.
“Oh, we won’t enter on the business just now,” said Bourne. “It is not of any immediate importance, but I suppose you will pass your word to do me a good turn when I require you to do so?”
“It is only my duty, sir. Anything I can do shall be done, provided it be such as a man can consistently perform.”
“Yes, precisely. Well, we will discuss this question when we are better acquainted with one another.”
“He’s jolly artful,” murmured the gipsy to himself, “and don’t let every fool see his cards. Well, he’s not to blame for that.”