Quick indulged in a hoarse laugh so loud that it seemed to set the bottles behind the bar dancing.
“Young fellow,” he said, “it wasn’t simply to get a drink you stepped in.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then you are a long time about asking for it. This hotel may not have any oil-paintings or statuary scattered about, but you’ll find brandy here as good as can be got in town.”
“Give me a pony, then, and have a drink yourself.”
The order was quickly filled. Burt found Quick’s statement fulfilled. The liquor was of the best.
“Now, my boy,” said Mike, with a knowing wink, “what’s your game?”
“I want to find Enoch Cook.”
Quick emitted a low whistle and looked very wise.
“Why,” he said, “your man went to foreign parts about two years ago.”