He laughed again and pushed me up the stair; I went, willingly.
"Mr. Parslewe!" said I. "I'm neither dull, nor dead, nor woe-begone, but I am cold, for the night's bitter, and that miserable old car I got is a trap for draughts. And as to Priam and Troy, I've a tale to tell you that beats that!"
"Aye?" he said. "Well, a midnight tale is generally one that's worth hearing. And if you're cold, I believe there's a bit of fire burning, and we'll soon improve it. But———"
We were at the head of the stair by then, and Madrasia suddenly called from her room.
"Jimmie!—is that him?" she demanded, careless of grammar in her eagerness. "And what's he after at this time?"
"Aye, it's me!" I called out, catching at her spirit. "And I'm safe and sound, too, with a pack of adventures———"
"That'll keep till morning," interrupted Parslewe, pushing me into the room. "Go to sleep again, my girl!" He shut the door on us, drew the heavy curtain across it, and after poking up the fire and lighting the lamp, helped us both to whisky from the decanter
