"Harry," said Popple suddenly, "would ye like a tonic?"
"Would a duck swim, Cap'n?" said Harry instantly.
"There was a glass or two left in a bottle of the boy downstairs. 'Arf a mo! I'll ax Marie if it's still on tap."
Harry stared again out of the window. This time his glance followed Harvey Raymond, who was strolling toward the bridge. He watched the secretary's thin figure, its ungainliness being somewhat enhanced by the stiffly bandaged arm, until Popple returned in triumph with nearly a pint of champagne and a wine-glass.
"There you are, Son!" he cried joyously. "Put that where the cat can't get it. You're drinkin' Mr. Raymond's health."
"Am I?" said Harry. "Then, 'ere's to him, the swab!"
"Hullo! Don't you like him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"'E ain't my sort, Cap'n. Monkey-fice, we chaps forrard used to call 'im."