"Pretty, I think you said," continued Willoughby. "And auburn-haired?"
"Yes, deuced pretty, deuced auburn-haired. What are you driving at?"
Willoughby held up a soothing hand. "Just let me think," he said. "I used to know a man once in Calcutta. An American from Boston; sold canned goods, calico and caramels at wholesale; had a pretty wife. Clever fellow, too; and great at giving imitations—could mimic anything. Used to do an old domestic with a lisp in a way that would make your sides ache. I wish I could recall that fellow's name. By Jove, it was—it was!—it was!——"
"Was what?" I asked.
"Why, 'Carhart'!"
Barton, before the fire, swayed on his feet unsteadily, and clutched the mantelpiece for support. Old Nathan shuffled to his side.
"Thoda, thir?" the servant asked.
"Yes," said the master absently. "If you please, one lump of sugar and a little cream."