“Throw more logs on the fire, Hoskins. It is nearly out,” he said, as he drummed thoughtfully on the table with his fat fingers.
Hoskins obeyed the order given him, and once more the fire blazed up.
“Now bring more brandy. Some of that Dry London Dock and Otard, mind you; and more cigars, some of the best,” he added.
The man sat two bottles and one parcel on the table, and then waited farther directions.
“You may go, now,” said Monck. And Hoskins left the room.
Justin looked at his host and wondered what had happened, and surmised that the foraging party must have come to bitter grief, so to have changed the aspect of this unimpressible man.
“I am sure that something unpleasant has occurred to you, Major,” said Justin.
“Oh, no, no—nothing at all but what we are used to,” replied Monck, who was in the act of drawing the cork from one of the brandy bottles. When he had done so, he poured out a large glass of brandy and pushed it towards his guest, and said:
“You have drank nothing, neither wine nor liquor, to-day. Oblige me by trying this fine old Otard.”
“Thanks, no. I would rather not,” answered Justin.