"On what?" I asked, driving the question home.
"On yer company," said he, returning my gaze, "and yer sowl."
"That's curious!"
"Yes, if ye have one to lose, and put anny price on it."
His meaning was too clear.
"Tell your master, with my compliments," I responded, "that I will come another time—I have business in Paris to-day!"
He still looked at me earnestly, and when he spoke again his voice had a fatherly ring. "If I make bold, it's yer honor's forgiveness I ask—but, if it was me that was in Paris I'd stay there," and putting his glass down quickly, he rolled to the door, fingered his hat there for one moment, put it on awry, and with the oft-repeated statement, "Oi was priest's boy in Tipperary, bedad," he swayed out of the room.
When he was gone, the others, who had not spoken, turned to me, their eyes asking for an explanation.
"One of Hall's friends," I said, trying to look unconcerned, "the mate on the yacht La France—the vessel he joins to-day."
Roderick tapped the table with his fingers; Mary was very white, I thought.
"He knows a queer company," I added, with a grim attempt at jocularity, "they're almost as rough as he is."
