“Why, thank you, miss!” said Blathers, drawing his coat-sleeve across his mouth; “it’s dry work, this sort of duty. Anythink that’s handy, miss; don’t put yourself out of the way, on our accounts.”
“What shall it be?” asked the doctor, following the young lady to the sideboard.
“A little drop of spirits, master, if it’s all the same,” replied Blathers. “It’s a cold ride from London, ma’am; and I always find that spirits comes home warmer to the feelings.”
This interesting communication was addressed to Mrs. Maylie, who received it very graciously. While it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out of the room.
“Ah!” said Mr. Blathers: not holding his wine-glass by the stem, but grasping the bottom between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand: and placing it in front of his chest; “I have seen a good many pieces of business like this, in my time, ladies.”
“That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton, Blathers,” said Mr. Duff, assisting his colleague’s memory.
“That was something in this way, warn’t it?” rejoined Mr. Blathers; “that was done by Conkey Chickweed, that was.”
“You always gave that to him” replied Duff. “It was the Family Pet, I tell you. Conkey hadn’t any more to do with it than I had.”
“Get out!” retorted Mr. Blathers; “I know better. Do you mind that time when Conkey was robbed of his money, though? What a start that was! Better than any novel-book I ever see!”
“What was that?” inquired Rose: anxious to encourage any symptoms of good-humour in the unwelcome visitors.