'The cook perhaps has,' replied Mr. Spigot, as if it was quite out of his line.
'Well, go and ask her,' said Sponge; 'and bring some hot water and things, the same as we had last night, you know.'
Mr. Spigot retired, and presently returned, bearing a tray with three-quarters of a bottle of brandy, which he impressed upon their minds was the 'cook's own.'
'I dare say,' hiccuped Jack, holding the bottle up to the light.
'Hope she wasn't using it herself,' observed Sponge.
'Tell her we'll (hiccup) her health,' hiccuped Jack, pouring a liberal potation into his tumbler.
'That'll be all you'll do, I dare say,' muttered Spigot to himself, as he sauntered back to his pantry.
'Does Jaw stand smoking?' asked Jack, as Spigot disappeared.
'Oh, I should think so,' replied Sponge; 'a friend like you, I'm sure, would be welcome'—Sponge thinking to indulge in a cigar, and lay the blame on Jack.
'Well, if you think so,' said Jack, pulling out his cigar-case, or rather his lordship's, and staggering to the chimney-piece for a match, though there was a candle at his elbow, 'I'll have a pipe.'