“Look sharp, then, and light the lamp.”
“All right, sir,” said Sam, fumbling in his box, and proceeding to strike a light. “I ’spose you’ve made me in a pretty mess, sir.”
“What! Have I made your nose bleed?”
“Oh, no, sir. I meant the lampblack. I suppose I shall be covered with it.”
“Wait till you get the light, and see,” said Frank sharply.
Scratch! The little wax match flashed, the lamp was picked up uninjured, and after a little trying, burned freely, so that the adversaries could gaze in each other’s faces.
But prior to doing this Sam examined his hands twice over, and then passed them over his face. He next took out a pocket-handkerchief and rubbed his face well, bringing away plenty of perspiration, but the linen remained white.
“It hasn’t come off, sir,” he said, in a tone full of wonder; and then, moistening his handkerchief with his lips, “Beg your pardon, sir, would you mind?”
Frank, whose annoyance was dying out, being driven off by a feeling of amusement caused by the man’s looks of wonder, stood fast while Sam passed his handkerchief over the back of one hand and then drew back, laughing softly.
“Well, Sam!” he cried.