"Ah, professor! how do you do? You are never going to Europe?" exclaimed Mr. Brudenell, in surprise.
"Yes, sir. I go wherever my master leads, sir. Mr. Worth and his humble servant will never be separated till death do them part. But about your breakfast, sir?"
"Why, truly, no, I have not breakfasted, unless a cup of suspicious- looking liquid called coffee, drunk at the railway table, could be called breakfast."
The professor sat his hamper on his knees, opened it, and began to reveal its hidden treasures.
Ishmael laughed, expressed his surprise, and inquired of Morris what cook shop he patronized.
And then the professor explained the kind forethought of the old ladies who had provided these luxuries for his journey.
"I declare I will live with them if they will let me, if ever I spend another winter in Washington! One could enjoy what is so often promised, so seldom given—'the comforts of a home'—with those old ladies," said the judge fervently.
Mr. Brudenell made a very satisfactory meal off half a dozen French rolls, a roasted partridge and a bottle of claret. And then while he was wiping his mouth and the professor was repacking the hamper and throwing the waste out of the window, Judge Merlin turned to Mr. Brudenell, and, with an old man's freedom, inquired:
"Pray, sir, may I ask, what procures us the pleasure—and it is indeed a great pleasure—of your company across the water?"
A shade of the deepest grief and mortification fell over the face of Herman Brudenell, as bending his head to the ear of his questioner, and speaking in a low voice, he replied: