statement is correct. I expect others of my friends, while they are in my presence, to do the same. I have the honour to give you a lemon, Captain Puffin, and a slice of sugar. I should say a lump of sugar. Pray make yourself comfortable.”
This dignified and lofty mood was often one of the after-effects of an unsuccessful game of golf. It generally yielded quite quickly to a little stimulant. Puffin filled his glass from the bottle and the kettle, while his friend put his handkerchief again over his face.
“Well, I shall just have my grog before I turn in,” he observed, according to custom. “Aren’t you going to join me, Major?”
“Presently, sir,” said the Major.
Puffin knocked out the consumed cinders in his pipe against the edge of the fender. Major Flint apparently was waiting for this, for he withdrew his handkerchief and closely watched the process. A minute piece of ash fell from Puffin’s pipe on to the hearthrug, and he jumped to his feet and removed it very carefully with the shovel.
“I have your permission, I hope?” he said witheringly.
“Certainly, certainly,” said Puffin. “Now get your glass, Major. You’ll feel better in a minute or two.”
Major Flint would have liked to have kept up this magnificent attitude, but the smell of Puffin’s steaming glass beat dignity down, and after glaring at him, he limped back to the cupboard for his whisky bottle. He gave a lamentable cry when he beheld it.
“But I got that bottle in only the day before yesterday,” he shouted, “and there’s hardly a drink left in it.”
“Well, you did yourself pretty well last night,” said Puffin. “Those small glasses of yours, if frequently filled up, empty a bottle quicker than you seem to realize.”
