“Any play?” asked Merl.
“Play is it? That there is; whist every night, and backgammon.”
Merl threw up his eyebrows with pretty much the same feeling with which the Great Napoleon repeated the words “Bows and Arrows!” as the weapons of a force that offered him alliance.
“If you'd allow me to dine in this trim, Mr. Scanlan,” said he, “I'd ask you to order dinner.”
“I was only waiting for you to give the word, sir,” said Maurice, reverting to the habit of respect at any fresh display of the other's pretensions; and opening the door, he gave a shrill whistle.
The landlord himself answered the summons, and whispered a few words in Scanlan's ear.
“That's it, always,” cried Maurice, angrily. “I never came into the house for the last ten days without hearing the same story. I 'd like to know who and what he is, that must always have the best that 's going?” Then turning to Merl, he added: “It's a lodger he has upstairs; an old fellow that came about a fortnight back; and if there's a fine fish or a fat turkey or a good saddle of mutton to be got, he 'll have it.”
“Faix, he pays well,” said Toby, “whoever he is.”
“And he has secured our salmon, I find, and left us to dine on whiting,” said Maurice.
“An eighteen-pound fish!” echoed Toby; “and it would be as much as my life is worth to cut it in two.”