Lovibond found Captain Davy in the smoke-room with a face as hard as a frozen turnip, one leg over the arm of an elbow chair, a church-warden pipe in his mouth, a gigantic glass of brandy and soda before him, and an admiring circle of the laziest riff-raff of the town about him. As soon as they were alone he said:
“But what’s this that your boy tells me, captain?”
“I’m foundered,” said Davy, “broke, wrecked, the screw of my tide’s gone twisting on the rocks. I’m done, mate, I’m done.”
Then he proceeded to recite the incidents of the quarrel, coloring them by the light of the numerous glasses with which he had covered his brain since morning.
“‘You’ve married me for my money,’ says I. ‘What else?’ said she. ‘Then d——— the money,’ says I, ‘I’ll lave you till it’s gone.’ ‘Do it and welcome,’ says she, and I’m doing it, bad cess to it, I’m doing it. But, stop this jaw. I swore to myself I wouldn’t spake of it to any man living. What d’ye drink? I’ve took to the brandy swig myself. Join in. Mate!” (this in a voice of thunder to the waiter at the end of the adjoining room) “brandy for the gentleman.”
Lovibond waited a moment and then said quietly, “But whatever made you give her an ungenerous stab like that, captain?”
Davy looked up curiously and answered, “That’s just what I’ve tooken six big drinks to find out. But no use at all, and what’s left to do?”
“Why take it back?” said Lovibond.
“No, deng my buttons if I will.”
“Why not?”