Angel and Bottiger cooked the breakfast, since in the circumstances we could not bring in outside help; and we all came to it very cheerful. All of us, that is, except our guest. We four had a change of clothes with us, but he was still in evening dress, and that rumpled. Moreover, we had had our cold tubs, but he had not washed to an extent appreciable by the naked eye. Indeed, he assured me that he hated cold water; and the frankness of his admission, though hardly the admission itself, raised him in my esteem. After all, he seemed to have some shadow of a claim to his title of Honest.
After breakfast Bottiger set off to walk to the station, and while Angel read a novel, Chelubai and I cleaned our guns.
Honest John Driver watched us a while in silence, and I observed that a settled melancholy brooded over his flabby face like a mist over a marsh. Presently he said: "Now that young friend of yours, is he really a baronet?"
"Of course he is," said Chelubai. "The Bottigers have been baronets since the reign of Charles I."
"Well," said Honest John Driver, "it's something to have been robbed by a baronet—if one must be robbed."
"Robbed by a baronet! Failed to rob a baronet, you meant!" I said indignantly.
