A moment later a dark-skinned servant—mahogany-hued in fact—came into the room and received his master’s orders.
“Will any of you take snuff?” asked Sir Peter, when the servant had withdrawn. He produced a small silver snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket.
He passed the snuff-box, but each of his guests declined. Ben, looking up with a grin, asked, “Does your servant come from the Barbadoes, Sir Peter?”
“Why yes, he does.” Sir Peter helped himself to a pinch of snuff, then dusted his coat with a fine cambric handkerchief. “An excellent servant, too. Indeed, I am much pleased with all my service, from my steward James Sampson down.”
“James Sampson!” exclaimed Ben, his eyes dancing. “Where have I heard that name before?”
At this point the servant reappeared, bearing a lacquered tray on which were five glasses and a decanter. He set the tray on a table, and as Sir Peter filled the glasses the servant handed them to the guests.
The refreshment was delicious. None of the boys had ever tasted anything like it before, but all of them declared it fine. Sir Peter poured a second glass all round, and then, when the servant had left again, the gentleman in buff seated himself in an arm-chair, swung one leg over the other, and beamed at his new friends. “As you say, the negus is excellent,” he observed, “but several glasses will, to use a somewhat common expression, begin to make one see things.”
“We’re seeing things already,” put in David.
Sir Peter disregarded this remark. He twisted his glass in his fingers. “As it happens, I’m particularly glad that you arrived here to-day,” he continued. “I have a number of guests here. I am giving an entertainment this evening. The guests are at present on the upper floors.”
There was a light tap of heels in the hall. Sir Peter looked toward the door. “Here comes one of them—a lady.” He stood up, and the campers did likewise. “Ah, it’s Mistress Penelope Boothby,” Sir Peter declared with a bow.