“You’ll find no coffee-house awake at this hour,” said Sebastian.
“Then I’ll wake one up.”
“What! and provoke a violation of the law. By law they’re not allowed to open till seven o’clock.”
“Oh, laws be hanged! I must have a cup of coffee.”
“Really, you are delightful,” asserted Sebastian, putting his arm through mine.
Presently we came to a beer hall, at whose door I began to bang. My friend stood by, shaking with laughter, Which seemed to me disproportionate to the humour of the event.
“You are easily amused,” said I.
“Oh, no, far from it. But this is such a lark you know,” said he.
By and by, we were seated opposite each other at a table, sipping hot coffee.
As I looked at Sebastian Roch I observed a startling phenomenon. The apex of his right whisker had become detached from the skin, and was standing out half an inch aloof from his cheek! The sight sent a shiver down my spine. It was certainly most unnatural. His eyes were bright, his voice was soft, he spoke English like a man and a brother, and his character seemed whimsical and open; but his beard, his dashing, black, pointed beard—which I’m not sure I hadn’t been envying him a little—was eerie, and, instinctively I felt for my watch. It was safe in its place and so was my purse. Therefore, at the door of the Bierhaus, in due time, we bade each other a friendly good-bye, he promising to look me up one of these days at my hotel.