“Ah,” he cried, smacking his lips, “sweet ardent spirit of the rye, may the shade of Christopher Columbus be fed upon you thrice every day, to reward him for the discovery of this continent. I've tasted Irish and I've tasted Scotch, Dutch barley-brandy and Slavonic vodka; but of all distillations to make glad the inmost heart of man, give me Kentucky rye! Another glass? Thank you, kind sir, not e'en another drop. 'Twere desecration worthy only of a widower to take a second after so rare a first. And now, by-the-bye, since I find myself the beneficiary of your hospitality, it behoves me to introduce myself. My name is Henry Fairchild, and by trade I am a sculptor.”
“My name is Leonard Benary, physician and surgeon. And I trust, Mr. Fairchild, that you have no urgent affairs to call you from my house, for I should never feel easy in my mind if I permitted you to leave it before this storm has abated; and that doesn't look like an imminent event. My affairs are not urgent. In fact, as I believe I have already remarked, when we ran across each other I was abroad for my diversion, pure and simple. But that is no reason why I should abuse your kindness. If I may thaw here before your fire for a half-hour, I shall be in perfect condition to make my way home.”
“That would depend upon the distance of your home from mine.”
“My home is in my studio. And my studio is in St. Matthew's Park.”
“So far! Very well, then. I shall certainly not hear of your leaving me so long as the storm continues. It would be as much as your life is worth to attempt such a journey in such circumstances. It's a matter of three, four, well-nigh five miles. And since all public conveyances are at a standstill, you'd have to trust yourself for the whole distance to Shanks's mare. I shall count upon your spending the night here, at least. There's no prospect of the weather moderating before to-morrow. And now, if you will excuse me, I will leave you here for a few moments, while I go to change my clothes.”
“That's the wisest thing you could possibly do,” he returned. “I shall amuse myself excellently looking out of the window; but as for your kind invitation to remain over night——”
“As for that, since you acknowledge that you have no pressing business to call you elsewhere, I will listen to no refusal.”
I went upstairs, my first care being to make known my return to Josephine and Miriam, who, of course, were thereby greatly surprised and relieved. They professed they had suffered the acutest anxiety ever since I had left the house; and as they listened to the account I gave them of my misadventures, they paled and shuddered for very terror.
“Mr. Fairchild, the young man who came to my rescue, is even now below stairs in the library,” I concluded.
“Oh, is he? Then,” cried Miriam, addressing Josephine, “let us go to him at once, and tell him how we thank him. To think that, except for him, my uncle might——” She completed her sentence by putting her arms around my neck, and giving me three of the sweetest kisses that were ever given in this world: one on either cheek and one full on the lips. “Now, sir,” she went on, shaking the prettiest of fingers at me, “I hope that you have learned a lesson, and will never do anything again that we two wise women warn you not to.”