"Oh, I know I had too much to carry!" he said recklessly. "It made me quarrel with that wretched Legrand, too—a fat-headed fool!"
I rang for water, and mixed two hot jorums of whisky, one of which he sipped contentedly.
"You see, we had a rousing time coming over," he observed, as if in apology. I looked my question, and he answered it. "Hamburg, in the Sea Queen. The old man skipped at Tilbury, and Barraclough's a real blazer."
"Which accounts for the blaze I saw," I remarked drily.
"Oh, you saw that. Yes, it was that that made Legrand mad. He's particular. But what's the odds? The boss has to pay."
His eyes roamed about the shabby room—shabby from the wretched pictures on the walls to the threadbare carpet underfoot, and, though he was not a gentleman, I felt some feeling of irritation. Perhaps if he had been a gentleman I should not have been put out at this scrutiny of my poverty.
"You saved me, and that's certain," he began again. "Say, are you a doctor?"
I admitted it.
"Well, can you recommend another glass of toddy?" he asked, smiling, and his smile was pleasant.
"In the circumstances again—perhaps," I said.