“Eh? Yes; all right! Certainly! The child always was fond of me, and it might give her too much of a shock to meet me suddenly, after so long a separation! Very considerate of you, Mark, certainly—very!”
“Is there anything else I can order for you before I go?”
“Eh? No, nothing; I am much obliged to you, nephew.”
“Well, if you should think of anything after I am gone, you can ring for it, you know.”
“Yes—yes.”
“Good afternoon for the present, I will come and fetch you at tea-time.”
“Yes; very well, I shall be ready. Hark ye, Mark! break my arrival to your wife cautiously, do you hear? Joy kills sometimes.”
“I shall be careful not to endanger Rosalie’s life,” said Mark, smiling as he left the room.
No sooner had the door closed behind his nephew, than, with a sigh of profound satisfaction, Uncle Billy arose and sat down in the easy chair, and drew the table towards him. In addition to everything else on the table, there was a tall, black bottle, which Mr. Bolling took up, uncorked, and put to his nose with a look of delightful anticipation. He sat it down suddenly, with an expression of intense disgust—
“Tomato catsup, by all that is detestable, and I thought it was port wine! Here, waiter!—(where the devil is the bell-rope?) Waiter, I say!”