"But when we are enjoying his hospitality—"
"Enjoying? Ha! Suffering, I guess you mean!" And Pell's head went back and he gave out a guffaw.
Lucia waited for his false mirth to vanish. Then, "But you seemed very anxious to come here."
"Yes; because I thought he lived in a house, not a—"
The sentence was not completed; for Gilbert came back with a bottle of the deadly tequila in his hand.
"I'm terribly sorry," he apologized, "to have to tell you that dinner will be late."
"You mean later, don't you?" Pell edited the remark.
Gilbert handed him the bottle. "Maybe this will atone for the postponed banquet," he smiled. He got the water-bottle hanging on the peg by the fireplace, and brought that to Pell also. He tried to be as gracious as he could to anyone under his roof.
Pell took a swig out of the bottle—a long one. "Good God!" he exclaimed, his face almost purple, his brow puckered like a dwarf's.