“He’s a knowing mute, Wellingborough,” said he; “who stays in this one place all the time, while he is yet running of errands. But mind you don’t breathe any secrets in his ear.”
In obedience to a summons so singularly conveyed, to my amazement a servant almost instantly appeared, standing transfixed in the attitude of a bow.
“Cigars,” said Harry. When they came, he drew up a small table into the middle of the room, and lighting his cigar, bade me follow his example, and make myself happy.
Almost transported with such princely quarters, so undreamed of before, while leading my dog’s life in the filthy forecastle of the Highlander, I twirled round a chair, and seated myself opposite my friend.
But all the time, I felt ill at heart; and was filled with an undercurrent of dismal forebodings. But I strove to dispel them; and turning to my companion, exclaimed, “And pray, do you live here, Harry, in this Palace of Aladdin?”
“Upon my soul,” he cried, “you have hit it:—you must have been here before! Aladdin’s Palace! Why, Wellingborough, it goes by that very name.”
Then he laughed strangely: and for the first time, I thought he had been quaffing too freely: yet, though he looked wildly from his eyes, his general carriage was firm.
“Who are you looking at so hard, Wellingborough?” said he.
“I am afraid, Harry,” said I, “that when you left me just now, you must have been drinking something stronger than wine.”
“Hear him now,” said Harry, turning round, as if addressing the bald-headed bust on the bracket,—“a parson ’pon honor!—But remark you, Wellingborough, my boy, I must leave you again, and for a considerably longer time than before:—I may not be back again to-night.”