Starting, rubbing his eyes, and with a muttered and husky, “Pardon, messieurs,” he commenced a profuse apology for sleeping in their company. This, however, was suddenly interrupted by the vehicle coming to a standstill before the station.
The four men alighted, and Holt, after a brief consultation with Bérard, took first-class tickets for West Brompton.
Pierre’s arm afforded Chavoix a friendly aid as they descended to the platform; for, although the latter was not sufficiently inebriated to attract attention, yet his equilibrium was slightly disarranged.
When the train drew up they entered an empty first-class compartment, and continued their journey westward, a decidedly jovial quartette.
On leaving the next station, Westminster, Pierre remarked that he had developed a great thirst, and, curiously enough, Holt immediately produced a nickel travelling flask filled with brandy, which he held up triumphantly. Amid the laughter which followed an assertion of Chavoix’s, to the effect that priests always appreciated good liquor, Pierre took the flask, and, unscrewing the top, placed the mouth to his lips.
Then he handed it to Adolphe.
“I’m so thirsty that I feel as if I could drink all that’s in the flask,” remarked the latter.
“You couldn’t do it in your present state,” argued Bérard incredulously.
“It’s very strong,” commented Pierre. “I doubt whether you could drain it at one draught. In fact, I’m open to bet you half a sovereign that you won’t.”
“Bah! it’s just as easy as winking,” replied the intoxicated man, regarding the flask with a complacent smile. “With m’sieur’s permission I’ll drink his health.”