“It’s a hell of a day!” said the Author, more forcible than ever.
“Don’t remind me of hell,” said the stoker, in a voice of inappeasable regret.
The Author slapped his pockets again. “You’ve got an infernal cold. Look here, my man—confound it! would you like a hot grog?…”
§ 3
The scene shifts to the Author’s study—a blazing coal fire, the stoker sitting dripping and steaming before it, with his feet inside the fender, while the Author fusses about the room, directing the preparation of hot drinks. The Author is acutely aware not only of the stoker but of himself. The stoker has probably never been in the home of an Author before; he is probably awe-stricken at the array of books, at the comfort, convenience, and efficiency of the home, at the pleasant personality entertaining him…. Meanwhile the Author does not forget that the stoker is material, is “copy,” is being watched, observed. So he poses and watches, until presently he forgets to pose in his astonishment at the thing he is observing. Because this stoker is rummier than a stoker ought to be——
He does not simply accept a hot drink; he informs his host just how hot the drink must be to satisfy him.
“Isn’t there something you could put in it—something called red pepper? I’ve tasted that once or twice. It’s good. If you could put in a bit of red pepper.”