“At what hour, Monsieur, is my letter to be ready?”
“Why! at any hour you please, Sir Percy.”
“The 'Day-Dream' could weigh anchor at eight o'clock... would an hour before that be convenient to yourself?”
“Certainly, Sir Percy... if you will honour me by accepting my hospitality in these uncomfortable quarters until seven o'clock to-morrow eve?...”
“I thank you, Monsieur...”
“Then am I to understand, Sir Percy, that...”
A loud and ringing laugh broke from Blakeney's lips.
“That I accept your bargain, man!... Zounds! I tell you I accept... I'll write the letter, I'll sign it... an you have our free passes ready for us in exchange.... At seven o'clock to-morrow eve, did you say?... Man! do not look so astonished.... The letter, the signature, the money... all your witnesses... have everything ready.... I accept, I say.... And now, in the name of all the evil spirits in hell, let me have some supper and a bed, for I vow that I am demmed fatigued.”
And without more ado Sir Percy once more rang the handbell, laughing boisterously the while: then suddenly, with quick transition of mood, his laugh was lost in a gigantic yawn, and throwing his long body onto a chair, he stretched out his legs, buried his hands in his pockets, and the next moment was peacefully asleep.