"Take some more whiskey, Dominic," said Mr. Wright. His eyes were glittering; it was evident that he did not need any more himself.
Dr. Lavendar said, "No, thank you," and rose. Samuel shot up as though a spring had been released.
"Going?" said Benjamin Wright; "a short call, considering how long it is since we've met;—Lavendar."
Samuel cleared his throat. "'Night," he said huskily. Again there was no hand-shaking; but as they reached the front door, Benjamin Wright called to Dr. Lavendar, who stepped back into the library. Mr. Wright had put on his hat, and was chewing orange-skin violently. "It ain't any use trying to arrange anything with—So I'll try another tack." He came close to Dr. Lavendar, plucking at the old minister's black sleeve, his eyes snapping and his jaws working fast; he spoke in a delighted whisper. "But, Lavendar—"
"Yes."
"He wouldn't take a cigar."
"Samuel never smokes," Dr. Lavendar said shortly.
"And he wouldn't take a drink of whiskey."
"He's a very temperate man."
"Lavendar—"