“You’ll be a-dry, belike?” said the man.
“What’s that?”
“Drythe, you’ll call it, for a glass of hale.”
“Certainly not,” answered the convalescent snappishly.
“’Tis a very good substitoot for the stomach,” said the man, and vanished.
“Hi!” shrieked Ned again.
The face reappeared.
“Why don’t you bring your harp and play up here, confound you!”
The eyes opened and withdrew like phantasmagoria. Presently the man was to be heard stumbling upstairs with a burden—in fact, he brought in his instrument and seated himself at it.
“Play?” said he; and Ned nodded.