Mr. Juniper walked up-stairs with heavy, slow steps, and knocked at the door of the marital chamber. There are men who can't walk up-stairs as though to do so were an affair of ordinary life. They perform the task as though they walked up-stairs once in three years. It is to be presumed that such men always sleep on the ground-floor, though where they find their bed-rooms it is hard to say. Mr. Juniper was admitted by Sophie, who stepped out as he went in. "Well, old fellow! B.—and—S., and plenty of it. That's the ticket, eh?"
"I did have a little headache this morning. I think it was the cigars."
"Very like,—and the stuff as washed 'em down. You haven't got any more of the same, have you?"
"I'm uncommonly sorry," said the sick man, rising up on his elbow, "but I'm afraid there is not. To tell the truth, I had the deuce of a job to get this from the old woman."
"It don't matter," said the impassive Mr. Juniper, "only I have been down among the 'orses at the yard till my throat is full of dust. So your lady has been and seen her brother?"
"Yes; she's done that."
"Well?"
"He ain't altogether a bad un—isn't old Grey. Of course he's an attorney."
"I never think much of them chaps."
"There's good and bad, Juniper. No doubt my brother-in-law has made a little money."