"Very good, sir."
Mr. Waddington shambled to the library and flung himself down on the chesterfield. Delicious, restful moments passed, and then a musical tinkling made itself heard without. Ferris entered with a tray.
"You omitted to give me definite instructions, sir," said the butler, "so, acting on my own initiative, I have brought the whisky-decanter and some charged water."
He spoke coldly, for he disapproved of Mr. Waddington. But the latter was in no frame of mind to analyse the verbal nuances of butlers. He clutched at the decanter, his eyes moist with gratitude.
"Splendid fellow, Ferris!"
"Thank you, sir."
"You're the sort of fellow who ought to be out West, where men are men."
The butler twitched a frosty eyebrow.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes. But don't go, Ferris. Tell me about everything."