I shrugged my shoulders without replying. The prospects ahead were not very bright.
Presently I had to go into the living-room to get some spices out of the pantry. I found Mr. Norton in the act of taking a deep pull from a small black flask.
“My blackberry brandy,” he said, by way of an explanation. “I have to take it for a weak stomach.”
“Are you sickly?” I asked.
“Somewhat.”
I went out again; but through the crack of the door I saw him take another pull at the flask, and then put it in his pocket.
This was another action that I did not like. About the Bend were a number of men who spent every cent of their money for drink, and this had led me to become strictly temperate.
At length the meal was ready, and I set it on the table, and called in Ford. We sat down, and Mr. Norton helped himself to a liberal portion.
“Why don’t you take hold?” he asked, seeing that I scarcely touched a thing.
“I don’t feel like eating,” I replied. “I am waiting to hear about my father.”