"'Cut one another up?'" he repeated once more. "You puzzle me entirely."
"Well, perhaps I'm altogether wrong. I only wanted to warn you that I've dared a good many things in my time. Now drop it."
Romarin had fine brown eyes, under Oriental arched brows. Again they noted the singularly vicious look of the man opposite. They were full of mistrust and curiosity, and he stroked his silver beard.
"Drop it?" he said slowly … "No, let's go on. I want to hear more of this."
"I'd much rather have another drink in peace and quietness…. Waiter!"
Either leaned back in his chair, surveying the other. "You're a perverse devil still," was Romarin's thought. Marsden's, apparently, was of nothing but the whiskey and soda the waiter had gone to fetch.
* * * * *
Romarin was inclined to look askance at a man who could follow up a gin and bitters with three or four whiskeys and soda without turning a hair. It argued the seasoned cask. Marsden had bidden the waiter leave the bottle and the syphon on the table, and was already mixing himself another stiff peg.
"Well," he said, "since you will have it so—to the old days."
"To the old days," said Romarin, watching him gulp it down.