“Ye-yes, my lord. I thought his lordship rang.”
“Yes, you thought right,” cried Tom. “His lordship rang for some brandy and seltzer. Look sharp and get it.”
“Yes, my lord, but—”
“Only a very little of the pale brandy in it, Robbins—about a dessert-spoonful,” said the earl, apologetically.
“Fetch the spirit-stand and two bottles of seltzer, Robbins,” roared the young man. “And look sharp,” he added in a tone of voice which sent the butler off in post-haste.
“That’s a flea in his fat old ear,” cried the young man, laying his hand on his father’s shoulder. “And now look here, gov’nor, you would please me very much if you would stand up for your rights. You know I’d back you up.”
“Would it please you, Tom?” said the old man, gazing in his son’s face, and patting his shoulder, “Well, I’ll—I’ll try, Tom, I’ll try; but—but—I’m afraid it’s too late.”
“Nonsense, gov’nor. Come, it will make things more comfortable. Keep an eye, too, on Maude. I don’t want her to be married off to a millionaire whether she likes him or no.”
“I’ll try, my boy, I’ll try,” said the old man, in a hopeless tone of voice. “Her ladyship said—”
“Who’s that for, Robbins?” cried a deep masculine-feminine voice outside the door, just as the jingle of glasses on a silver waiter was heard.