I pretended to, for I knew he wanted me to think that, but I had heard the butler tell the frump that the judge was reading.
"Don't expect to retire at all," he continued; "and then there's my promise to my poor boy—I must keep that somehow; never failed on a promise in my life—I mean, you know, about wearing his new pajamas." He shook his head sadly.
"T' be sure!"—and I swallowed hard—Jove, but the very word, "pajamas," gave me cold marrows!
"And, my boy, I haven't forgotten my promise to you, either," he continued, smiling kindly and replenishing my glass to the brim. "I'm still going to have a word with Francis to-night—that is, if they ever get back from that infernal dog-fight—I want to pave the way for you, you know."
"Thanks awfully!" I murmured nervously.
Somehow, I felt mean—always hate to feel mean, dash it—felt almost like a jolly cad, in fact. Couldn't tell him how far Frances and I had progressed already; he might take it out on her, you know. And then, to find out that he didn't know she hadn't gone to the dog-fight after all!
"Well," he sighed, "I will manage it all somehow, even about the pajamas. Perhaps, when the house is quiet, I may—here, have another—oh, yes, you must!—won't hurt you; only a pint or so of rum in the whole mixture. Fine, isn't it? Yes, I think Wilkes is certainly an artist when it comes to a nightcap. Now, let me fill yours again—oh, yes!"—and he did it—"Won't hurt a baby—make you sleep tight, you know!"
And, by Jove, I had to go it!
"Well—" he shifted as if to go, and sent me a smile over his glass's rim, "pleasant dreams!"
And then the door closed behind our "good nights."