“Oh, well! If I’ve got to go through the whole affair again—” The old man stopped abruptly and tapped the table with his big fingers, looking across the room at one of the lamps.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Ralston. “If you’ll tell me why you sent for me that will be quite enough.”
Robert Lauderdale looked at him in some surprise, for the tone of his voice sounded unaccountably hostile.
“I didn’t ask you to come for the sake of quarrelling with you, Jack,” he replied.
“No. I didn’t suppose so.”
“But you seem to be in a confoundedly bad temper all the same,” observed the old gentleman, and his bushy eyebrows moved oddly above his bright old eyes.
“Am I? I didn’t know it.” Ralston sat very quietly in his chair, holding his hat on his knees, but looking steadily at Mr. Lauderdale.
The latter suddenly sniffed the air discontentedly, and frowned.
“It’s those abominable cocktails you’re always drinking, Jack,” he said.
“I’ve not been drinking any,” answered Ralston, momentarily forgetting the forgetfulness which had so angered him ten minutes earlier.