"Milord is satisfied?"
"Milord," he said with an apologetic laugh, "is on the point of passing into a state of torpor. He begins to understand the inclination of the boa-constrictor—or whatever beast it is that feeds once every six months—to torp a little, gently, after its semi-annual gorge."
"Then there's nothing else...?"
"For a pipe and tobacco I would give you half my kingdom!"
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be. It won't harm me to do without nicotine for a day or two." But his sigh belied the statement. "Anyway, I'll forget all about it presently. I'll be too busy."
"How?"
"It's coming on night. You haven't forgotten our signal fires?"
"Oh, no—and we must not forget!"
"Then I've got my work cut out for me, to forage for fuel. I must get right at it."