“Sorry? Heaven forbid!” said Max unctuously, as he shook his head reproachfully at his visitor, and then, taking hold of his watch-ribbon, threw himself back in his chair and began to spin the seals round and round.
“Don’t! Be quiet!” cried Hopper, thrusting out the point of his stick, so that the seals struck upon it and were arrested in their motion. “Think I’m not bilious enough with looking at you, without having that thing spun round in my face?”
Max laughed, but looked annoyed; while the old fellow took a seat unasked.
“What can I do for you?” said Max at last, smiling blandly.
“Give me a glass of wine. I’m hot and tired.”
“Really, I—” began Max.
“It’s in that stand,” said the old fellow, chuckling, as he pointed with his stick at a handsome mahogany cellarette at one end of the room; when Max, whose smile was tempered a good deal with a look of annoyance, rose, sighed, secured the door with a little bolt, and then unlocked the cellarette and took out a decanter and glass.
“No, thank you—I don’t smoke cigars,” said the old fellow, as he watched the sherry poured into the glass. “Hey! You weren’t going to offer me one? Ho! I was afraid you were.”
Max had not spoken; but he winced as he heard these words—preserving his smile, though, when he turned his face to his visitor and passed the wine.
“Not bad, Max—not bad,” said the old fellow, tasting the sherry and smacking his lips before pouring the rest down his throat. “How you must mug yourself here! Lucky dog, lucky dog! Now, if I had taken to stock-broking instead of ship’s husbanding, I might have been as well off as you.”