“It has, Mr Butler; in fact I have suffered from a chill for some weeks. Ahem!”
“Have something to drink,” suggested Mr Bunker, sympathetically. “I’m trying a little whisky myself, as a cure for cold.”
“I—ah—I am sorry. I do not touch spirits.”
“I, on the contrary, am glad to hear it. Too few of our clergymen nowadays support the cause of temperance by example.”
Mr Bunker felt a little natural pride in this happily expressed sentiment, but his visitor merely turned his cold eye on the whisky bottle, and breathed heavily.
“Confound him!” he thought; “I’ll give him something to snort at if he is going to conduct himself like this.”
“Have a cigar?” he asked aloud.
Mr Duggs seemed to regard the cigar-box a little less unkindly than the whisky bottle; but after a careful look at it he replied, “I am afraid they seem a little too strong for me. I am a light smoker, Mr Butler.”
“Really,” smiled Mr Bunker; “so many virtues in one room reminds me of the virgins of Gomorrah.”
“I beg your pardon? The what?” asked Mr Duggs, with a startled stare.