Dalrymple sat down. He moistened his lips.
"On the wagon," he muttered. "A long time on the wagon. Place to be, too, and all that."
George didn't believe the other. If Dalrymple cared to prove him right that was his own business.
"Before prohibition offers the steps?" he laughed.
"Nothing to do with it," Dalrymple muttered. "Got my reasons—good enough ones, too."
"Right!" George said. "Only don't leave me to myself until I've wet my whistle."
And when the sleepy servant had come George asked him for some whiskey and soda water. He talked of the Alstons, of the war, of anything to tide the wait for the caraffe and the bottles and glasses; and during that period Dalrymple's restlessness increased. Just what had he been sneaking downstairs for in the middle of the night? George watched the other's eyes drawn by the tray when the servant had set it down.
"Why did he bring two glasses?" Dalrymple asked, irritably.
"Oh," George said, carelessly, "I suppose he thought—naturally——Have a biscuit, anyway."
George poured a drink and supped contentedly.