“Oh, yes, as far as I’m concerned,” said Crowdie, speaking first. “If you like that sort of thing, I’ve nothing to say. You’re quite big enough to take care of yourself. I hope Hester won’t hear it. She wouldn’t like the idea of her brother being knocked about without defending himself. I don’t particularly like it myself.”
“That’s nonsense, Walter, and you know it is,” answered Bright, curtly, and he turned to Miner with a look of enquiry.
“All right, Ham!” said the little man. “I’m not going to tell tales, if you aren’t. All the same—I don’t want to seem squeamish, and old-maid-ish, and a frump generally—but I don’t think I do remember just such a thing happening in any club I ever belonged to. Oh, well! Don’t let’s stand here talking ourselves black in the face. He’s gone, this time, and he’ll never find his way back if he once gets round the corner. You’ll hear to-morrow that he’s been polishing Tiffany’s best window with a policeman. That’s about his pressure when he gets a regular jag on. As for me, I’ve been trying to get somebody to have a drink with me for just three quarters of an hour, and so far my invitations have come back unopened. I suppose you won’t refuse a pilot’s two fingers after the battle, Ham?”
“What’s a pilot’s two fingers?” asked Bright. “I’ll accept your hospitality to that modest extent, anyhow. Show us.”
“It’s this,” said Miner, holding up his hand with the forefinger and little finger extended and the others turned in. “The little finger is the bottom,” he explained, “and you don’t count the others till you get to the forefinger, and just a little above the top of that you can see the whiskey. Understand? What will you have, Crowdie?”
“A drop of maraschino, thanks,” said the painter.
“Maraschino!” Miner made a wry face at the thought of the sugary stuff. “All right then, come in!”
They all went back together into the room in which Ralston and Miner had been sitting before the trouble began. Crowdie and his brother-in-law were not on very good terms. The former behaved well enough when they met, but Bright’s dislike for him was not to be concealed—which was strange, considering that Bright was a sensible and particularly self-possessed man, who was generally said to be of a gentle disposition, inclined to live harmoniously with his surroundings. He soon went away, leaving the artist and the man of letters to themselves. Miner did not like Crowdie very much either, but he admired him as an artist and had the faculty of making him talk.