“Gustavus,” said Mr. Ferdinand, a moment later in the servants’ hall, “you are a man of the world, I believe.”
Gustavus roused himself on his what-not.
“I am, Mr. Ferdinand,” he replied, in a pale and exhausted manner.
“Then tell me, Gustavus, have you ever lived in service with a gentleman who was partial to a bradawl—of a night, you understand?”
“No, never, Mr. Ferdinand. The nearest to it ever I got was the Bishop of Clapham.”
“Explain yourself, Gustavus, I beg.”
“He used to ask for a nip sometimes before retiring, Mr. Ferdinand.”
“A nip, Gustavus?”
“Warm water, with a slice of toast in it. But he was only what they call a suburban bishop, Mr. Ferdinand.”
“Ah! a nip is hardly on all fours with a bradawl, Gustavus.”