"Anybody here?" he asked, when he reached the landing.
"Not at present there ain't; I expect they're all at the fair."
"All the better," said Sam.
He followed the lady through a door which faced the landing, pausing for a moment to see that Bertie followed too. Something in Bertie's appearance struck the lady's eye.
"What's the matter with your friend,--ain't he well?" she asked.
"Well, he's not exactly well," responded Sam, favouring Bertie with a curious glance from the corner of his eye.
A man who was seated by a roaring fire, although the night was warm and bright, got up and joined the party. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and he also was stout, and he puffed industriously at a short black clay pipe. He stood in front of Bertie, and inspected him from head to foot.
"He don't look exactly well, not by any means he don't."
The stout man grinned. Bertie staggered. The sudden change from the sweet, fresh air to the hot, close room gave him a sudden qualm. If the stout man had not caught him he would have fallen to the floor.
"Steady! Where do you think you're coming to? You're a nice young chap, you are! If I was you I'd turn teetotal."