The sergeant brought it, and Dick pushed the still tipsy wretch, a bundle of false elegance deflowered, into its embrace.
Then Randal, with beaming face, caught his brother by the shoulders.
"You grisly scallywag!" he cried.
Finucane had risen, turning his own chair for the new-comer.
"Sit down, sir," he said.
And Dick, seeing only those who addressed him, dropped into the seat.
"Don't hurry yourself, Mr. Bellamy. What'll you have?" asked Finucane. "Brandy—whisky?"
"Tea," interrupted Dick. "A potful—and awfully strong."
"See to that, will you, sergeant?" said Finucane.
The man left the room, and Dick spoke again.