Roy made a playful lunge, which the other skilfully avoided, then, laughing good-naturedly at Broom’s banter, he attired himself and went out, but he did not remain out of doors long, quickly returning and wandering listlessly about the place during the rest of the morning. He was too anxious about the “packet” to attend his traps or settle himself to anything about the Fort.
Broom made himself comfortable and began to read the book he had laid aside on the previous day. But as time went on he put it down and endeavored to attract the trader’s attention by making significant signs and gestures, such as filling an invisible vessel from an imaginary bottle, lifting his hand to his mouth and going through the motions of drinking with evident gusto, and swallowing an indefinite quantity of something with an appreciative smack of the lips. These pantomimic efforts failing, he coughed spasmodically, then uttered sundry vague half sentences, among which “An eye-opener,” “Throat as dry as a lime-kiln,” “A hair of the dog that bites you,” could be plainly distinguished, and all these attempts at effecting a “liquor up” being abortive, he came abruptly to the point with a hint there was no mistaking.
“What about a drink?” he asked with an ingratiating smile.
But the trader was gazing out through the window, his thoughts far away, and Broom was obliged to repeat his words with emphasis before Thursby became aware that he was speaking.
Then, “Eh!” he ejaculated, turning sharply and collecting his errant thoughts with an effort. “I beg pardon, Broom. I was thinking, and your words passed over me.”
“Oh, I was merely inquiring whether there was a ‘shot left in the locker,’” grumbled Broom.
The other laughed, paused irresolutely, then set a bottle and enamelled mug on the table. Broom eyed these proceedings with manifest satisfaction. But perceiving there was but one mug he raised his eyebrows and glanced significantly from the mug to Roy and back to the mug again.
Roy shook his head and smiled. “No,” he said, “it’s too early.” He waited until Broom had helped himself, then again placed the bottle under lock and key.
Broom shrugged his shoulders at this caution. He screwed his face into an extravagant expression of dismay, then, changing his expression suddenly, he emptied the mug at a gulp.
Buttoning his coat and drawing his cap well down, Roy went out to take another look for the packet. Broom followed Roy to the door with his eyes, then took up the mug and looked into it as if to see whether by any possible chance a drop had been left in the bottom. Raising it to his lips, he drained the few remaining drops, then finding he could squeeze no more out of it, replaced the mug and settled himself to read.