“You’d have been mighty useful here last week; there was plenty for you to do. My step-daughter arrived; but as you weren’t to be found, we had to send to Joel to shoot us a buck and a few dozen snipes. Ah, Bob! one might still make a good citizen of you, if you’d only leave off that cursed play!”
Bob still remained silent.
“Now, go into the kitchen and get some breakfast.”
Bob neither answered nor moved.
“D’ye hear? Go into the kitchen and get something to eat. And, Ptoly”—added he to the negro—“tell Veny to give him a pint of rum.”
“Don’t want yer rum—ain’t thirsty”—growled Bob.
“Very like, very like,” said the judge sharply. “Reckon you’ve taken too much already. Look as if you could swallow a wild cat alive. And you,” added he, turning to me—“Ptoly, what the devil are you at? Don’t you see the man wants his breakfast? Where’s the coffee? Or would you rather have tea?”
“Thank you, Alcalde, I have breakfasted already.”
“Don’t look as if. Ain’t sick, are you? Where do you come from? What’s happened to you? Ain’t got the ague, have you? What are you doing with Bob?”