“Bring him down, ma’am, bring him down, or the creature will scorch his head in the moon.”
While I was shrinking back in confusion, Dr. Peel bent to the solemnity.
“Captain,” says he, with an ingratiatory grin, “you’re drinking nothing.”
“I don’t want anything,” said the other, in a loud, bullying voice.
“Nonsense,” answered the doctor. “You must keep up your character. Here, John.”
He spoke to a lackey, who was ready on the moment with a decanter. To my amazement, the man filled up the gentleman’s breakfast cup with raw brandy.
He shifted, glared, hesitated, and caught up the pungent stuff.
“Enough is as good as a feast, but more than enough is less than nothing,” howled he, and swallowed the fire at a draught.
He had hardly consumed it, when he cast the cup into splinters on the board, staggered to his feet, and, moaning to himself, left the room. The conversation died down for a moment, and was instantly resumed more recklessly than ever. I felt suddenly sick.
“He-he!” sniggered my little companion. “He’s been long taking his hint, the fool, and outstaying his welcome. But Peel’s done it at last, I do believe.”