He rang the silver bell.
"Gunn," he said as the steward sidled in, "we are awaiting the food I ordered. But stay! Open a window before you go. This place reeks with the stench of decayed honor."
I laughed, and he put the glass from his lips, peering at me across its rim as if surprized.
"You find occasion for mirth in my remark, Robert?"
"I find myself in extraordinary agreement with you for the nonce," I returned. "You are correct. This place doth reek of 'decayed honor.'"
"Ah!"
He finished his drink, wiped his mouth carefully and set down the glass.
"You are, I suspect, attempting sarcasm," he continued. "'Tis a diversion frequently favored by the young."
"No," I said; "I am only expressing to you my feeling that you have as little claim to possession of a sense of honor as the man who was just here."
Gunn unbolted one of the stern windows, and a fine breath of salty air was blown in our faces. Murray inhaled it deeply, and Peter, whose face had become leaden in the cabin's close atmosphere, regained a touch of color and edged forward in his seat. My great-uncle turned to him courteously, ignoring me for the moment.