“Bob!  Come here, you scoundrel!”

That is the way in which he speaks to him.  No really decent servant would stand it.  I shouldn’t care to address Nalder, my servant, in such a way.  He would give me notice on the spot.  Bob came in.  He is a great hulking fellow who is always on the grin.  Tress had a decanter of brandy in his hand.  He filled a tumbler with the neat spirit.

“Bob, what would you say to a glassful of brandy—­the real thing—­my boy?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And what would you say to a pull at a pipe when the brandy is drunk!”

“A pipe?” The fellow is sharp enough when he likes.  I saw him look at the pipe upon the table, and then at us, and then a gleam of intelligence came into his eyes.  “I’d do it for a dollar, sir.”

“A dollar, you thief?”

“I meant ten shillings, sir.”

“Ten shillings, you brazen vagabond?”

“I should have said a pound.”

“A pound!  Was ever the like of that!  Do I understand you to ask a pound for taking a pull at your master’s pipe?”

“I’m thinking that I’ll have to make it two.”

“The deuce you are!  Here, Pugh, lend me a pound.”

“I’m afraid I’ve left my purse behind.”

“Then lend me ten shillings—­Ananias!”

“I doubt if I have more than five.”

“Then give me the five.  And, Brasher, lend me the other fifteen.”

Brasher lent him the fifteen.  I doubt if we shall either of us ever see our money again.  He handed the pound to Bob.

“Here’s the brandy—­drink it up!” Bob drank it without a word, draining the glass of every drop.  “And here’s the pipe.”

“Is it poisoned, sir?”

“Poisoned, you villain!  What do you mean?”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve seen your tricks, sir—­is it now?  And you’re not the one to give a pound for nothing at all.  If it kills me you’ll send my body to my mother—­she’d like to know that I was dead.”

“Send your body to your grandmother!  You idiot, sit down and smoke!”

Bob sat down.  Tress had filled the pipe, and handed it, with a lighted match, to Bob.  The fellow declined the match.  He handled the pipe very gingerly, turning it over and over, eying it with all his eyes.

“Thank you, sir—­I’ll light up myself if it’s the same to you.  I carry matches of my own.  It’s a beautiful pipe, entirely.  I never see the like of it for ugliness.  And what’s the slimy-looking varmint that looks as though it would like to have my life?  Is it living, or is it dead?”

“Come, we don’t want to sit here all day, my man!”

“Well, sir, the look of this here pipe has quite upset my stomach.  I’d like another drop of liquor, if it’s the same to you.”

“Another drop!  Why, you’ve had a tumblerful already!  Here’s another tumblerful to put on top of that.  You won’t want the pipe to kill you—­you’ll be killed before you get to it.”