"Nothing, nothing."
"Nothing?—Well, I never knew anybody look so white with nothing the matter. Come, I want a drop of brandy; where is it?"
"In that cupboard; I want some myself likewise. Get it out, Watson. You will find glasses there."
Watson was not slow in obeying this order. The brandy was duly produced, and, after Fogg had drank as much as would have produced intoxication in any one not so used to the ardent spirit as himself, he spoke more calmly, for it only acted upon him as a gentle sedative.
"You wished to say something to me, Watson."
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I am tired, completely tired, Fogg."
"Tired? Then why don't you retire to rest at once, Watson? There is, I am sure, nothing to keep you up now; I am going myself in a minute."
"You don't understand me, or you won't, which is much the same thing. I did not mean that I was tired of the day, but I am tired of doing all the work, Fogg, while you—while you—"