"All right!" said Philip, and thought with ecstasy, "I shall be near Margaret; I shall sleep under the same roof as Margaret."
"Have you anything to drink?" asked Philip when they were in Mr. Hart's room.
Mr. Hart wanted Philip to sleep in his bed, which was but a stretcher, barely wide enough for one fair-sized man, but Philip would not hear of it; so they obtained a straw mattress, and laid it on the floor, and Philip tossed off his clothes, and stretched himself upon his hard bed (and slept upon it afterwards as soundly as if it had been made of eider-duck's feathers), in a state of complete satisfaction with himself and every one in the world. It was while he was lying like this, and while Mr. Hart, more methodical than his companion, was slowly undressing himself, that Philip had asked if he had anything to drink.
"I'll get something," said Mr. Hart, and left the room, and returned with a bottle and glasses.
While he was gone, Philip looked about him, and soon discovered that his Margaret's bedroom was immediately above him. He gazed at the ceiling with rapture, and sent kisses thitherward. A single partition parted him from his sweetheart. He fancied that he could hear her soft breathing. The same roof covered them. It was as yet his nearest approach to heaven.
"Here's to Margaret," said Philip, holding up his glass.
"To Margaret," responded Mr. Hart, "and happiness to you both."
"Another toast," said Philip; "to my old dad and the dear old Silver Flagon."
They drank the toast.
"What is the Silver Flagon?" asked Mr. Hart.