"No," said Gray.
"I did it," whispered George—"ten to one. Bit o' luck, wasn't it?"
Gray assented, and George leaned over the desk to be out of hearing of Busby. He touched Gray on the hand with one forefinger.
"I've got a drop of Scotch in the desk," he said; "real old stuff. Going to have a nip?"
A flash of eagerness came into Gray's eyes, and then died away.
"No, thanks," he said hastily; "I don't think I will. The fact is, I—I don't feel up to it this morning."
"Blue ribbon?" asked George, opening his eyes in wonder.
"No—oh no," answered Gray, with some confusion; "no, nothing of that."
"Then have a drop," said George, enjoying the struggles of his victim. "It's ten years old, and strong enough to break the bottle. Got it from a friend of mine who works in a distillery."
Gray's eyes glistened; but George moved off to Busby's desk before he had time to give way.