THE INCIDENTS OF AN EARLY MORNING WALK
I remember waking to find myself very miserable in a ghastly dawn, where guttering candles flickered in their sockets, casting an unearthly light upon bottles, silverware, and more bottles that stood or lay amidst overturned and broken glasses; an unseemly jumble that littered a long table whose rumpled cloth was plentifully besplashed with spilled wine and flanked by empty chairs.
Into my drugged consciousness stole a sound that might have been wind in trees, or a mill race, or some industrious artisan busied with a saw, yet which I knew could be none of these, and my drowsy puzzlement grew. Therefore I roused myself with some vague notion of solving this mystery and turned to behold in this ghastly light a ghostly face; a handsome face, but very stern, square-chinned, black-browed, aquiline, scowling upon the dawn.
"Uncle Jervas!" said I, a little thickly. "You look like a ghost, sir!"
At this he started, but when he turned, his face was impassive as ever.
"Shall I wish you many happy returns of last night, Nephew?"
"God forbid, sir!" said I, bowing aching head upon my hands.
"It is perhaps a blessing to remember, Peregrine, that one comes of age but once in one's lifetime."
"It is, sir!" I groaned. "Pray what—what is that sound, sir—so monotonous and—damnable?"
"It is rather an aggregation of sounds, emanating in unison from your good friends the Marquis of Jerningham, Viscount Devenham and Mr. Vere-Manville—they sleep remarkably soundly!"