The door opened with a bang, and Pete rolled in, heaving with laughter.
“Did you think it was an earth wake, Philip?” he shouted, “or a blackbird a bit tipsy, eh? Bless me, man, it's good of you, though, sitting up in the chimney there same as a good ould jackdaw, keeping the poor wife company when her selfish ould husband is flirting his tail like a stonechat. The company's going now, Kitty. Will they say good-night to you? No? Have it as you like, bogh. You're looking tired, anyway. Dempster, the boys are asking when the ceremony is coming off, and will you come home to Ramsey that night? But, sakes alive, man, your eye is splashed with blood as bad as the egg of a robin.”
In his suffering and degradation, Philip felt as if he wished the earth to open and swallow him.
“Bloodshot, is it?” he said. “It's nothing. The ceremony? I'm to take the oath to-morrow at three o'clock at the Special Council in Douglas. Yes, I'll come back to Ballure for the night?”
“Driving, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Six o'clock, maybe?”
“Perhaps seven to eight.”
“That's all right. Mortal inquisitive the boys are, though. It's in the breed of these Manx ones, you know. Laxey way, now?”
“I'll drive by St. John's,” said Philip.