After a somewhat hasty toilet, during which Anthony contrived to cut himself, we descended to find a goodly breakfast and a cheerful fire; but scarcely were we at table than Anthony tugged at the bell rope.
"Good morrow to thee, Thomas!" quoth he to the portly and somnolent landlord who responded to the summons. "Chaise will be round soon, I hope?"
"Whenever ye do so wish, Mr. Anthony, sir."
"Excellent! Then pray, Tom, take hence this stuff!" And he pointed to a bottle at his elbow.
"Stuff, sir! Oh, Mr. Anthony—stuff?" exclaimed the landlord in sorrowful reproach, his somnolence forgotten in surprise. "It be brandy, sir—best French—your very own particular—"
"Aye, Tom, I know it is, and begad, I'm lusting for a mouthful—that's why I bid you take it away—drink coffee instead, confound it! So hence with it, Thomas—away!"
Very round of eye, the landlord took up the bottle and wandered off with it like one in a dream.
Anthony gulped his coffee, but, though the fare was excellent, ate little, fidgeted with his stock, shuffled in his chair, glanced frequently and stealthily at his watch and, in fine, discovered all those symptoms that indicated an extreme perturbation of mind.
"Devil take it, Perry—how you eat!" he exclaimed at last.
"The ham is delicious, Anthony—".