“And isn’t it better to die a natural death?”

Bob emptied the second tumbler of brandy as though it were water.  I believe he would empty a hogshead without turning a hair!  Then he gave another look at the pipe.  Then, taking a match from his waistcoat pocket, he drew a long breath, as though he were resigning himself to fate.  Striking the match on the seat of his trousers, while, shaded by his hand, the flame was gathering strength, he looked at each of us in turn.  When he looked at Tress I distinctly saw him wink his eye.  What my feelings would have been if a servant of mine had winked his eye at me I am unable to imagine!  The match was applied to the tobacco, a puff of smoke came through his lips—­the pipe was alight!

During this process of lighting the pipe we had sat—­I do not wish to use exaggerated language, but we had sat and watched that alcoholic scamp’s proceedings as though we were witnessing an action which would leave its mark upon the age.  When we saw the pipe was lighted we gave a simultaneous start.  Brasher put his hands under his coat tails and gave a kind of hop.  I raised myself a good six inches from my chair, and Tress rubbed his palms together with a chuckle.  Bob alone was calm.

“Now,” cried Tress, “you’ll see the devil moving.”

Bob took the pipe from between his lips.

“See what?” he said.

“Bob, you rascal, put that pipe back into your mouth, and smoke it for your life!”

Bob was eying the pipe askance.

“I dare say, but what I want to know is whether this here varmint’s dead or whether he isn’t.  I don’t want to have him flying at my nose—­and he looks vicious enough for anything.”

“Give me back that pound, you thief, and get out of my house, and bundle.”

“I ain’t going to give you back no pound.”

“Then smoke that pipe!”

“I am smoking it, ain’t I?”

With the utmost deliberation Bob returned the pipe to his mouth.  He emitted another whiff or two of smoke.

“Now—­now!” cried Tress, all excitement, and wagging his hand in the air.

We gathered round.  As we did so Bob again withdrew the pipe.

“What is the meaning of all this here?  I ain’t going to have you playing none of your larks on me.  I know there’s something up, but I ain’t going to throw my life away for twenty shillings—­not quite I ain’t.”

Tress, whose temper is not at any time one of the best, was seized with quite a spasm of rage.

“As I live, my lad, if you try to cheat me by taking that pipe from between your lips until I tell you, you leave this room that instant, never again to be a servant of mine.”

I presume the fellow knew from long experience when his master meant what he said, and when he didn’t.  Without an attempt at remonstrance he replaced the pipe.  He continued stolidly to puff away.  Tress caught me by the arm.