“Come now,” said he, putting the pipe back in his mouth, and making to rise, “and shadda off to bed; it’s time you were aslape, the both of you.”
Dick began to yowl.
“I don’t want to go to bed; I aint tired, Paddy—les’s stay a little longer.”
“Not a minit,” said the other, with all the decision of a nurse; “not a minit afther me pipe’s out!”
“Fill it again,” said Dick.
Mr Button made no reply. The pipe gurgled as he puffed at it—a kind of death-rattle speaking of almost immediate extinction.
“Mr Button!” said Emmeline. She was holding her nose in the air and sniffing; seated to windward of the smoker, and out of the pigtail-poisoned air, her delicate sense of smell perceived something lost to the others.
“What is it, acushla?”
“I smell something.”
“What d’ye say you smell?”