"Good morning, Joe," he said.
"Morning," replied Joe, gruffly, in answer to the salutation.
"Where is John, Mr. Porter?" This question was asked in Mr. Sealy's blandest tones, for he was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to perceive nothing would be gained by being cross.
"He hasn't come down yet."
"Will you kindly tell him I would like to see him?"
"Yes, I will. But won't you have a glass of something to drink as an appetizer? You must have been up early."
As Porter spoke he handed down a black bottle labelled "Old Rye
Whiskey."
"I don't care if I do take a smile," Sealy replied. And taking the bottle from Porter's hand he poured a tumbler half full, and drank it down as if it were so much water.
"I will now run up-stairs and see if John has tumbled out yet," said Porter; and suiting the action to the word, his bloated face and burly form disappeared through the door.
In a few moments John, jun., appeared, his face bearing palpable traces of his last night's debauch.