The force of Billy's remark riveted itself in my mind, and the idea of asking a man so long a distance to shoot nothing was very little short of insult. Mr Simpson arrived as we drove in, arrayed in an ulster just imported from Inverness. His hat was new; his boots were new; his gloves awfully new, yellow and stiff, and forcing his fingers very far apart, as though his hands were wooden stretchers. His portmanteau, solid leather, was brand new; the very purse from which he extracted a new sixpence to tip the porter was of the same virgin type. He was mistaken for a bridegroom, and the fair bride was eagerly sought for by the expectant porter whilst removing a new rug from the compartment in which Mr Simpson had been seated. To crown all this newness, his gun-case, solid leather, had never seen the open air till this day, and the iron which impressed upon it Mr Rigby's brand could scarcely have had time to grow cold.
"Begorra, it's in the waxworks he ought for to be," muttered Billy Doyle, grimly surveying him from head to foot.
Mr Simpson's thick moustache possessed a queer sort of curl, his nose too, followed this pattern, so that his face somewhat resembled those three legs which are impressed upon a Manx coin. His eyes were long slits, with narrow lids, not unlike a cut in a kid glove: one of these eyes he kept open by means of an eyeglass. This eyeglass was perpetually dropping into his bosom and disappearing, never coming to the surface when required, and only coming up to breathe after a succession of prolonged and abortive dives.
"It's very cold," he exclaimed, grasping my hand, or rather endeavouring to grasp it, for the new gloves would admit of no loving contact.
"There's likker over beyant at the rifrishmint-bar," observed Billy, whose invariable habit it was to cut into the conversation with such comments or observations as suggested themselves to him at the moment.
Perceiving an inclination on the part of my guest to profit by the hint, I interposed by informing him that the refreshment was of the meanest possible character, in addition to its possessing a very inflammatory tendency.
"Thrue for ye, sir. The sperrits is that sthrong that it wud desthroy warts, or burn the paint off av a hall dure."
"That will do, Billy," I said, as Simpson's face bore silent tokens of wonder at the garrulity of my retainer. "We don't require your opinion at present."
"Och, that's hapes, as Missis Dooley remarked whin she swallird the crab," said Billy very sulkily, as he mounted behind.
"How is our friend De Britska?" I asked.