"Oh!" he exclaimed, as if surprised. "Now what'll ye have, mester?" He stood waiting. "It's my call to-night."
I explained to him that I never took alcohol. It was not quite true, but it was as true as most general propositions are.
"Neither me!" he said shortly, after a pause.
"You're a teetotaller too?" I showed a little involuntary astonishment.
He put forward his chin.
"What do you think?" he said confidentially and scornfully. It was precisely as if he had said: "Do you think that anybody but a born ass would not be a teetotaller, in my position?"
I sat down on a chair.
"Take th' squab, mester," he said, pointing to the sofa. I took it.
He picked up the candle; then dropped it, and lighted a lamp which was on the mantelpiece between his vases of blue glass. His movements were very slow, hesitating and clumsy. Blowing out the candle, which smoked for a long time, he went with the lamp to the bookcase. As the key of the bookcase was in his right pocket and the lamp in his right hand he had to change the lamp, cautiously, from hand to hand. When he opened the cupboard I saw a rich gleam of silver from every shelf of it except the lowest, and I could distinguish the forms of ceremonial cups with pedestals and immense handles.
"I suppose these are your pots?" I said.