“Who hasn't?” inquired Mr. Sharp.
“Why, me,” returned the surprised Mr. Culpepper.
Mr. Sharp, who had just raised his glass, put it down again and smiled. It was a faint smile, but it seemed to affect his host unfavourably.
“What are you smiling at?” he demanded.
“Thoughts,” said Mr. Sharp, exchanging a covert glance with Florrie. “Something you told me the other day.”
Mr. Culpepper looked bewildered. “I'll give you a penny for them thoughts,” he said, with an air of jocosity.
Mr. Sharp shook his head. “Money couldn't buy 'em,” he said, with owlish solemnity, “espec—especially after the good supper you're giving me.”
“Bert,” said Mr. Culpepper, uneasily, as his wife sat somewhat erect “Bert, it's my birthday, and I don't grudge nothing to nobody; but go easy with the beer. You ain't used to it, you know.”
“What's the matter with the beer?” inquired Mr. Sharp. “It tastes all right—what there is of it.”
“It ain't the beer; it's you,” explained Mr. Culpepper.