Galloping Dick
course. “I beg your pardon,” said he, but too bluntly for courtesy. “I was mistook.”
“Why, come now,” says I amiably, “you make amends like a man of honour, and I will do myself the favour of asking you to a glass with me.”
An expression of annoyance beset his features, but he durst not well decline me, and, indeed, I was in no spirit for refusal. I shifted up my chair within reach, and we jingled our glasses.
“A pint of warm wine,” said I genially, “is the finest specific for an empty stomach these mild days.”
Considering that he was then three-parts through a capon, with pasties to boot, here was a pretty point enough, but he took no notice of the sally.
“True,” he answered, briefly. And finding him thus so much disposed to conversation I pushed back my chair, and, lolling in it, surveyed him with a friendly care. I was now less than ever at the knowledge of his calling, but I was to make a smart push for it.
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