“I was only thinking—just to-night—old friends re-meeting—and—as a little celebration——” He tilted his head suggestively toward the brilliantly-lighted windows of the Goat Hotel.
“I never do,” said Eliphalet.
“No, no, I understand—but—to the success of the play—a couple of glasses!”
Eliphalet shook his head.
“You go,” he said. “Here, take——” And he pressed some silver into Bulmore’s palm, “I’d—I’d rather not.”
“It’s sad work drinking alone.”
“I shall have the pleasure of your company at home all the sooner, then.”
It was after eleven before Bulmore returned, and bed was the obvious prescription. So Eliphalet helped him undress, and listened to a good deal of maudlin matter, without which the evening would have been a happier one.
Next morning they set to work mapping out a scheme for their future. Being accustomed to work at night, they made their plans accordingly.
They would breakfast late, partake of their one serious meal at three o’clock, enjoy a cup of tea about half-past five, and devote the evening hours to work upon the play. At midnight the traditional Welsh rarebit, washed down with a jug of good milky cocoa, would be served—then a pipe and bed. To relieve any embarrassment in giving or receiving, Eliphalet arranged that each should draw the same weekly sum, and share alike in all things.