I knew his little phial must be exhausted long since. I intended to give him a bottle.
"Did your lordship say Damtidam?"
"Damtidam!" I roared, while my heart beat voluptuous music. "You don't mean to say you don't keep it?"
"Oh no, my lord! We laid in a big stock of it; but Lord Porchester was that fond of it (used to drink it like your lordship does champagne), I doubt if I could lay my hand on a bottle."
"What an awful bo-ah!" I yawned. "I suppose I'll have to get a bottle of my own out of that little black box under my bed. I couldn't possibly go without it after dinner. Hang it all, the key is in my other trousers!"
"Oh, don't trouble, my lord," said Jones anxiously. "I'll run and see if I can find any."
I waited, gloating.
Jones returned gleefully.
"I've found plenty, my lord," he said, setting down a brimming liqueur-glass.
He lingered about, clearing the table. His eye was upon me. I drank the Damtidam. Then Jones departed, and I went about kicking the furniture, and striding about in my desolate grandeur, like Napoleon at St. Helena.