“He was out, sir—up in the middle of the night. My own eyes saw it.”
“But how do you know that he was up to think?” inquired Mr. Jones. “It might have been anything—toothache, for instance. And you may have dreamed it for all I know. Didn't you try to sleep?”
“No, sir. I didn't even try to go to sleep.”
Ricardo informed his patron of his vigil on the veranda, and of the revelation which put an end to it. He concluded that a man up with a cigar in the middle of the night must be doing a think.
Mr. Jones raised himself on his elbow. This sign of interest comforted his faithful henchman.
“Seems to me it's time we did a little think ourselves,” added Ricardo, with more assurance. Long as they had been together the moods of his governor were still a source of anxiety to his simple soul.
“You are always making a fuss,” remarked Mr. Jones, in a tolerant tone.
“Ay, but not for nothing, am I? You can't say that, sir. Mine may not be a gentleman's way of looking round a thing, but it isn't a fool's way, either. You've admitted that much yourself at odd times.”
Ricardo was growing warmly argumentative. Mr. Jones interrupted him without heat.
“You haven't roused me to talk about yourself, I presume?”