Kitabı oku: «The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. I (of II)», sayfa 14

As Repton had uttered these words, the sharp bang of a gun startled him, and at the same instant a young fellow sprang from the copse in front of him into the alley. His coarse fustian shooting-jacket, low-crowned oil-skin hat, and leather gaiters seemed to bespeak the professional poacher, and Repton dashed forward with his heavy riding-whip upraised towards him.

“Take care, old gentleman,” said the young man, facing about; “my second barrel is loaded, and if you dare – ”

“By Heaven! I’ll thrash you, you scoundrel!” said Repton, whose passion was now boiling over by a sudden bound of the cob, which had nearly thrown him from the saddle, – a mischance greeted by a hearty burst of laughter from the stranger.

“I fancy you have quite enough to do at this moment!” cried he, still laughing.

Half mad with anger, Repton pressed his spurs to the cob’s flanks, while he gave him a vigorous cut of the whip on the shoulder. The animal was little accustomed to such usage, and reared up wildly, and would inevitably have fallen back with his rider, had not the stranger, springing forward, seized the bridle, and pulled him down by main force. Whether indifferent to his own safety, or so blinded by passion as not to recognize to what he owed it, the old man struck the other a heavy blow with his whip over the head, cutting through his hat, and covering his face with blood.

The young man passing his arm through the bridle, so as to render the other’s escape impossible, coolly removed his hat and proceeded to stanch the bleeding with his handkerchief, – not the slightest sign of excitement being displayed by him, nor any evidence of feeling that the event was other than a more accident.

“Let loose my bridle-rein, – let it loose, sir,” said Repton, passionately, – more passionately, perhaps, from observing the measured calmness of the other.

“When I know who you are, I shall,” said the young man.

“My name is Valentine Repton; my address, if you want it, is Merrion Square North, Dublin; and can you now tell me where a magistrate’s warrant will reach you?”

“My present residence is a house you may have seen on the side of the mountain as you came along, called, I think, Barnagheela; my name is Massingbred.”

“You presume to be a gentleman, then?” said Repton.

“I have not heard the matter disputed before,” said Jack, with an easy smile, while he leisurely bound the handkerchief round his head.

“And of course, you look for satisfaction for this?”

“I trust that there can be no mistake upon that point, at least,” replied he.

“And you shall have it, too; though, hang me, if I well know whether you should not receive it at the next assizes, – but you shall have it. I ‘ll go into Oughterard this day; I ‘ll be there by nine o’clock, at the Martin Arms.”

“That will do,” said Massingbred, with a coolness almost like indifference; while he resumed his gun, which he had thrown down, and proceeded to load the second barrel.

“You are aware that you are poaching here?” said Repton, – “that this is part of the Martin estate, and strictly preserved?”

“Indeed! and I thought it belonged to Magennis,” said Jack, easily; “but a preserve without a gamekeeper, or even a notice, is a blockade without a blockading squadron.” And without a word more, or any notice of the other, Massingbred shouldered his gun and walked away.

It was some time before Repton could summon resolution to leave the spot, such was the conflict of thoughts that went on within him. Shame and sorrow were, indeed, uppermost in his mind, but still not unmingled with anger at the consummate ease and coolness of the other, who by this line of conduct seemed to assume a tone of superiority the most galling and insulting. In vain did he endeavor to justify his act to himself, – in vain seek to find a plausible pretext for his anger. He could not, by all his ingenuity, do so, and he only grew more passionate at his own failure. “Another would hand him over to the next justice of the peace, – would leave him to quarter sessions; but not so Val Repton. No, by Jove, he ‘ll find a man to his humor there, if he wants fighting,” said he, aloud, as he turned his horse about and rode slowly back.

It was already dusk when he joined Miss Martin, who, uneasy at his prolonged absence, had entered the wood in search of him. It required all the practised dissimulation of the old lawyer to conceal the signs of his late adventure; nor, indeed, were his replies to her questions quite free from a certain amount of inconsistency. Mary, however, willingly changed the subject, and led him back to speak of topics more agreeable and congenial to him. Still he was not the same sprightly companion who had ridden beside her in the morning. He conversed with a degree of effort, and, when suffered, would relapse into long intervals of silence.

“Who inhabits that bleak-looking house yonder?” said he, suddenly.

“A certain Mr. Magennis, a neighbor, but not an acquaintance, of ours.”

“And how comes it that he lives in the very middle, as it were, of the estate?”

“An old lease, obtained I can’t say how many centuries back, and which will expire in a year or two. He has already applied for a renewal of it.”

“And of course, unsuccessfully?”

“Up to this moment it is as you say, but I am endeavoring to persuade my uncle not to disturb him; nor would he, if Magennis would only be commonly prudent. You must know that this person is the leading Radical of our town of Oughterard, the man who sets himself most strenuously in opposition to our influence in the borough, and would uproot our power there, were he able.”

“So far, then, he is a courageous fellow.”

“Sometimes I take that view of his conduct, and at others I am disposed to regard him as one not unwilling to make terms with us.”

“How subtle all these dealings can make a young lady!” said Repton, slyly.

“Say, rather, what a strain upon one’s acuteness it is to ride out with a great lawyer, one so trained to see spots in the sun that he won’t acknowledge its brightness if there be a speck to search for.”

“And yet it’s a great mistake to suppose that we are always looking on the dark side of human nature,” said he, reflectively; “though,” added he, after a pause, “it’s very often our business to exaggerate baseness, and make the worst of a bad man.”

“Even that may be more pardonable than to vilify a good one,” said Mary.

“So it is, young lady; you are quite right there.” He was thoughtful for a while, and then said: “It is very singular, but nevertheless true, that, in my profession, one loses sight of the individual, as such, and only regards him as a mere element of the case, plaintiff or defendant as he may be. I remember once, in a southern circuit, a hale, fine-looking young fellow entering my room to present me with a hare. He had walked twelve miles to offer it to me. ‘Your honor doesn’t remember me,’ said he, sorrowfully, and evidently grieved at my forgetfulness. ‘To be sure I do,’ replied I, trying to recall his features; ‘you are – let me see – you are – I have it – you are Jemmy Ryan.’

“‘No, sir,’ rejoined he, quickly, ‘I’m the boy that murdered him.’

“Ay, Miss Martin, there’s a leaf out of a lawyer’s notebook, and yet I could tell you more good traits of men and women, more of patient martyrdom under wrong, more courageous suffering to do right, than if I were – what shall I say? – a chaplain in a nobleman’s family.”

Repton’s memory was well stored with instances in question, and he beguiled the way by relating several, till they reached Cro’ Martin.

“And there is another yet,” added he, at the close, “more strongly illustrating what I have said than all these, but I cannot tell it to you.”

“Why so?” asked she, eagerly.

“It is a family secret, Miss Martin, and one that in all likelihood you shall never know. Still, I cannot refrain from saying that you have in your own family as noble a specimen of self-sacrifice and denial as I ever heard of.”

They were already at the door as he said this, and a troop of servants had assembled to receive them. Mary, therefore, had no time for further inquiry, had such an attempt been of any avail.

“There goes the first dinner-bell, Miss Martin,” said Repton, gayly. “I’m resolved to be in the drawing-room before you!” And with this he hopped briskly upstairs, while Mary hastened to her room to dress.

CHAPTER XV. “A RUINED FORTUNE”

No stronger contrast could be presented than that offered by the house which called Mr. Magennis master, to all the splendor and elegance which distinguished Cro’ Martin. Built on the side of a bleak, barren mountain, without a trace of cultivation, – not even a tree beside it, – the coarse stone walls, high pitched roof, and narrow windows seemed all devised in some spirit of derision towards its graceful neighbor. A low wall, coped with a formidable “frieze” of broken bottles and crockery, enclosed a space in front once destined for a garden, but left in its original state of shingle, intermixed with the remnants of building materials and scaffold planks. A long shed, abutting on the house, sheltered a cow and a horse; the latter standing with his head above a rickety half-door, and looking ruefully out at the dismal landscape beneath him.

Most of the windows were broken, – and in some no attempt at repair had been made, – indicating that the rooms within were left unused. The hall-door stood ajar, but fastened by a strong iron chain; but the roof, more than all besides, bespoke decay and neglect, the rafters being in many places totally bare, while in others some rude attempts at tiling compensated for the want of the original slates. A strong colony of jackdaws had established themselves in one of the chimneys; but from another, in the centre of the building, a thick volume of dark-blue smoke rolled continually, conveying, indeed, the only sign of habitation about this dreary abode.

The inside of the house was, if possible, more cheerless than the out. Most of the rooms had never been finished, and still remained in their coarse brown plaster, and unprovided with grates or chimney-pieces. The parlor, par excellence, was a long, low-ceilinged chamber, with yellow-ochre walls, dimly lighted by two narrow windows; its furniture, a piece of ragged carpet beneath a rickety table of black mahogany, some half-dozen crazy chairs, and a small sideboard, surmounted by something that might mean buffet or bookcase, and now served for both, being indifferently garnished with glasses, decanters, and thumbed volumes, intermingled with salt-cellars, empty sauce-bottles, and a powder-flask.

An atrociously painted picture of an officer in scarlet uniform hung over the fireplace, surmounted by an infantry sword, suspended by a much-worn sash. These were the sole decorations of the room, to which even the great turf fire that blazed on the hearth could not impart a look of comfort.

It was now a little after nightfall; the shutters were closed, and two attenuated tallow candles dimly illuminated this dreary chamber. A patched and much discolored tablecloth, with some coarse knives and forks, bespoke preparation for a meal, and some half-dozen plates stood warming before the fire. But the room had no occupant; and, except for the beating of the shutters against the sash, as the wind whistled through the broken window, all was silent within it. Now and then a loud noise would resound through the house; doors would bang, and rafters rattle, as the hall-door would be partially opened to permit the head of a woman to peer out and listen if any one were coming; but a heavy sigh at each attempt showed that hope was still deferred, and the weary footfall of her steps, as she retired, betrayed disappointment. It was after one of these excursions that she sat down beside the kitchen fire, screening her face from the blaze with her apron, and then, in the subdued light, it might be seen that, although bearing many traces of sorrow and suffering, she was still young and handsome. Large masses of the silkiest brown hair, escaping from her cap, fell in heavy masses on her neck; her eyes were large and blue, and shaded by the longest lashes; her mouth, a little large, perhaps, was still beautifully formed, and her teeth were of surpassing whiteness. The expression of the whole face was of gentle simplicity and love, – love in which timidity, however, deeply entered, and made the feeling one of acute suffering. In figure and dress she was exactly like any other peasant girl, a gaudy silk handkerchief on her neck being the only article of assumed luxury in her costume. She wore shoes, it is true, – not altogether the custom of country girls, – but they were heavy and coarsely made, and imparted to her walk a hobbling motion that detracted from her appearance.

A large pot which hung suspended by a chain above the fire seemed to demand her especial care, and she more than once removed the wooden cover to inspect the contents; after which she invariably approached the window to listen, and then came back sorrowfully to her place, her lips muttering some low sounds inaudibly. Once she tried to hum a part of a song to try and beguile the time, but the effort was a failure, and, as her voice died away, two heavy tears stole slowly along her cheeks, and a deep sob burst from her; after which she threw her apron over her face, and buried her head in her lap. It was as she sat thus that a loud knocking shook the outer door, and the tones of a gruff voice rose even above the noise; but she heard neither. Again and again was the summons repeated, with the same result; and at last a handful of coarse gravel struck the kitchen window with a crash that effectually aroused her, and springing up in terror, she hastened to the door.

In an instant she had unhooked the heavy chain, and sheltering the candle with her hand, admitted a large powerfully built man, who was scarcely within the hall when he said angrily, “Where the devil were you, that you could n’t hear me?”

“I was in the kitchen, Tom,” said she.

“Don’t call me Tom, d – n you,” replied he, violently. “Don’t keep dinning into me the infernal fool that I’ve made of myself, or it will be worse for you.”

“Sure I never meant any harm by it; and it was your own self bid me do it,” said she, meekly, as she assisted him to remove his dripping great-coat.

“And don’t I rue it well?” rejoined he, through his half-closed teeth. “Isn’t it this confounded folly that has shut me out of the best houses in the county? My bitter curse on the day and the hour I first saw you!”

“Oh, don’t say them words, – don’t, or you’ll break my poor heart,” cried she, clinging to him as he strode angrily into the parlor.

“Be off with you, – be off to the kitchen, and leave me quiet,” said he, rudely.

“There ‘s your slippers, sir,” said she, meekly, as, bending down, she untied his heavy shooting-shoes, and replaced them by a pair of list ones.

“Is the dinner ready?” asked he, sternly.

“It is, sir; but Massin’bred is n’t come back.”

“And who the devil is Massingbred? Don’t you think he might be Mister Massingbred out of your mouth?”

“I ax your pardon, sir, and his, too; but I didn’t mean – ”

“There, there, – away with you!” cried he, impatiently. “I ‘m never in a bad humor that you don’t make me worse.” And he leaned his face between his hands over the fire, while she slipped noiselessly from the room.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing me honor by staying here,” burst he forth, suddenly, as he sprang to his legs and stared angrily around him. “Maybe he supposes that it’s great condescension for him to put up with my humble house! Ay, and that it’s my bounden duty to wait for him to any hour he pleases. If I thought he did, – if I was sure of it!” added he, with a deep guttural tone, while he struck his clenched fist violently against the chimney-piece. Then, seizing the large iron poker, he knocked loudly with it against the back of the fireplace, – a summons quickly answered by the appearance of the girl at the door.

“Did he come in since morning?” asked he, abruptly.

“No, sir, never,” replied she, with a half courtesy.

“Nor say what time he ‘d be back?”

“Not a word, sir.”

“Then, maybe, he’s not coming back, – taken French leave, as they call it, eh, Joan?”

The sound of her name, spoken, too, in an accent of more friendly meaning, lighted up her face at once, and her large eyes swam in tears of gratitude towards him as she stood there.

“But he ‘d scarcely dare to do that!” said he, sternly.

“No, sir,” said she, echoing half unconsciously his opinion.

“And what do you know about it?” said he, turning savagely on her. “Where were you born and bred, to say what any gentleman might do, at any time, or in anything? Is it Joan Landy, the herd’s daughter, is going to play fine lady upon us! Faix, we ‘re come to a pretty pass now, in earnest! Be off with you! Away! Stop, what was that? Did n’t you hear a shot?”

“I did, sir, – quite near the house, too.”

A sharp knocking now on the hall-door decided the question, and Magennis hastened to admit the arrival.

It is a strange fact, and one of which we are satisfied merely to make mention, without attempting in the least to explain, but no sooner was Magennis in the presence of his young guest, than not only he seemed to forget all possible cause of irritation towards him, but to behave with a manner of, for him, the most courteous civility. He aided him to remove his shot-belt and his bag; took his hat from his hands, and carefully wiped it; placed a chair for him close to the fire; and then, as he turned to address him, remarked for the first time the blood-stained handkerchief which still bound his forehead.

“Did you fall, – had you an accident?” asked he, eagerly.

“No,” said the other, laughing; “a bit of an adventure only, which I ‘ll tell you after dinner.”

“Was it any of the people? Had you a fight – ”

“Come, Magennis, you must exercise a little patience. Not a word, not a syllable, till I have eaten something, for I am actually famishing.”

A stout knock of the poker on the chimney summoned the dinner, and almost in the same instant the woman entered with a smoking dish of Irish stew.

“Mrs. Joan, you’re an angel,” said Massingbred; “if there was a dish I was longing for on this cold, raw day, it was one of your glorious messes. They seem made for the climate, and by Jove, the climate for them. I say, Mac, does it always rain in this fashion here?”

“No; it sleets now and then, and sometimes blows.”

“I should think it does,” said Jack, seating himself at the table. “The pleasant little slabs of marble one sees on the cabin-roofs to keep down the thatch are signs of your western zephyrs. Mrs. Joan has outdone herself today. This is first-rate.”

“There’s too strong a flavor of hare in it,” said Magen-nis, critically.

“That’s exactly its perfection; the wild savor lifts it out of the vulgar category of Irish stews, and assimilates it, but not too closely, to the ragout. I tell you, Mac, there’s genius in the composition of that gravy.”

The partial pedantry of this speech was more than compensated for by the racy enjoyment of the speaker, and Magennis was really gratified at the zest with which his young friend relished his meal.

“It has one perfection, at least,” said he, modestly, – “it ‘s very unlike what you get at home.”

“We have a goodish sort of a cook,” said Jack, languidly, – “a fellow my father picked up after the Congress of Verona. Truffles and treaties seem to have some strong sympathetic attraction, and when diplomacy had finished its work, a chef was to be had cheap! The worst of the class is, they ‘ll only functionate for your grand dinners and they leave your every-day meal to some inferior in the department.”

It was strange that Magennis could listen with interest always whenever Massingbred spoke of habits, people, and places with which he had never been conversant. It was not so much for the topics themselves he cared, – they were, in reality, valueless in his eyes, – it was some singular pleasure he felt in thinking that the man who could so discuss them was his own guest, seated at his own table, thus connecting himself by some invisible link with the great ones of this world!

Massingbred’s very name – the son of the celebrated Moore Massingbred – a Treasury Lord – Heaven knows what else besides – certainly a Right Honorable – was what first fascinated him in his young acquaintance, and induced him to invite him to his house. Jack would probably have declined the invitation, but it just came at the moment when he was deeply mortified at Nelligan’s absence, – an absence which old Dan was totally unable to explain or account for. Indeed, he had forgotten that, in his note to his son, he had not mentioned Massingbred by name, and thus was he left to all the embarrassment of an apology without the slightest clew as to the nature of the excuse.

No sooner, then, was it apparent to Massingbred that young Nelligan did not intend to return home, than he decided on taking his own departure. At first he determined on going back to Dublin; but suddenly a malicious thought sprung up of all, the mortification it might occasion Joe to learn that he was still in the neighborhood; and with the amiable anticipation of this vengeance, he at once accepted Magennis’s offer to “accompany him to his place in the mountains, and have some shooting.”

It would not have been easy to find two men so essentially unlike in every respect as these two, who now sat discussing their punch after dinner. In birth, bringing-up, habits, instincts, they were widely dissimilar, and yet, somehow, they formed a sort of companionship palatable to each. Each had something to tell the other which he had either not heard before, or not heard in the same way. We have already adverted to the strong fascination Magen-nis experienced in dwelling on the rank and social position of his young guest. Massingbred experienced no less delight in the indulgence of his favorite pastime, – adventure hunting. Now, here was really something like adventure, – this wild, rude mountain home, this strange compound of gloom and passion, this poor simple country girl, more than servant, less than wife, – all separated from the remainder of the world by a gulf wider than mere space. These were all ingredients more than enough to suggest matter for imagination, and food for after-thought in many a day to come.

They had thus passed part of a week in company, when the incident occurred of which our last chapter makes mention, and an account of which, now, Massingbred proceeded to give his host, neither exaggerating nor diminishing in the slightest particular any portion of the event. He even repressed his habitual tendency to sarcasm, and spoke of his antagonist seriously and respectfully. “It was quite clear,” said he, in conclusion, “that he did n’t know I was a gentleman, and consequently never anticipated the consequence of a blow.”

“And he struck you?” broke in Magennis, violently.

“You shall see for yourself,” said Jack, smiling, as, untying the handkerchief, he exhibited a deep cut on his forehead, from which the blood still continued to ooze.

“Let Joan doctor you; she’s wonderful at a cut. She has something they call Beggarman’s Balsam. I ‘ll fetch her.” And without waiting for a reply he left the room. The young woman speedily after appeared with some lint and a small pot of ointment, proceeding to her office with all the quiet assiduity of a practised hand, and a gentleness that few “regulars” could vie with. Her skill was more than recompensed by the few muttered words of praise Magennis bestowed, as he grumbled out, half to himself: “Old Cahill himself could n’t do it better. I ‘d back her for a bandage against the College of Surgeons. Ain’t ye easier now? – to be sure you are. She ‘s good for that if she is for nothing else!” And even this much of eulogy made her bosom heave proudly, and brought a flush of joy over her cheek that was ecstasy itself.

The world is not deficient in acts of kindness, benevolence, and good-will. There is a large fountain of these running in ten thousand rills. But how many more might there not be, – how much of this wealth might there not be dispensed, and nobody living one jot the poorer! How many are there toiling away in obscurity and narrow fortune, to whom one single word of praise – one chance syllable of encouragement – would be life’s blood! What sunken cheeks and lacklustre eyes would glow and gladden again by even a look of sympathy, withheld from no lack of kindliness, but mere want of thought! Oh ye who have station and fame, genius or greatness, bethink ye that these gifts are never higher than when they elevate the humble and cheer the lowly, and there is no physician like him who animates the drooping heart, and gives new vigor to wearied faculties and failing energy. Joan was made happy by the two or three words of grateful thanks Massingbred addressed to her, and stole quietly away, leaving the two companions once more alone.

If there was any incident in life participation in which could convey intense gratification to Magennis, it was that sort of difference or misunderstanding that might lead to a duel. Whenever the affair offered no other alternative, his delight was unbounded. There were, it was rumored events in his own early life which would imply that the taste for mortal combat extended only to cases where his friends were concerned, and had no selfish application whatever. Of these we know nothing; nor, indeed, have we any information to convey regarding him, save by chance and stray words dropped by himself in the unguarded hours of after-dinner converse. There are, however, many who like the subordinate parts in this world’s comedy, – who would rather be best man than bridegroom, and infinitely prefer performing second to principal.

We are not, however, going into the inquiry as to the cause; enough when we repeat that this was Magennis’s great passion, and these were the kind of events for whose conduct and management he believed himself to possess the most consummate tact and ability.

“You ‘re in luck, Massingbred,” cried he, as the other concluded his recital, – “you’re in luck, sir, to have for your friend one that, though I say it myself, has n’t his equal for a case like this in the three kingdoms. It was I, sir, took out Cahill when he shot Major Harris, of the Fusiliers. I handled him that morning in a way that made the English officers confess there was no chance against us! A duel seems an easy thing to arrange. You ‘d say that any fool could put up two men, twelve or even ten paces asunder, and tell them to blaze away; and if that was all there was in it, it would be simple enough. But consider for a minute the real case, and just remember how much the nature of the ground, whether level or uneven, has to do with it; what’s behind, – if a wall, or trees, or only sky; the state of the light; how the sun stands; whether there ‘s wind, and what way it’s coming. These are not all. There’s the pistols, – how they ‘throw,’ and with what charge; and then there ‘s the size of your man. Ay, Massingbred, and let me tell you, you now see before you the man that invented the ‘invulnerable position.’”

“By Jove! that’s a most valuable fact to me just now,” said Jack, helping himself to a fresh tumbler. “I ‘m glad you have not been retained by the other side.”

“The ‘invulnerable position’!” continued Magennis, perfectly heedless of the other’s remark; while, taking up the poker, he stalked out to the middle of the room, drawing himself up to his full height, and presenting, as though with a pistol, – “Do you see what I mean?” cried he.

“I can’t say I do,” said Jack, hesitatingly.

“I thought not,” rejoined the other, proudly; “nobody ever did that was n’t ‘out’ often. Pay attention now, and I ‘ll explain it. My head, you perceive, is carried far behind my right shoulder, so as to be completely protected by my pistol-hand and the pistol. I say the pistol, because it has been proved scientifically that the steadiest eye that ever fired never could aim at the antagonist’s pistol. Morris Crofton practised it for eight years in his own garden; and though he did succeed, he told me that for practical purposes it was no use. Now we come to the neck, and you may observe the bend of my elbow. Ay, that little angle that nobody would remark masks the jugular arteries, and all the other vital nerves in that part. John Toler used to say that the head and neck was like the metropolis, and that a shot elsewhere was only like a ‘row’ in the provinces; and a very true and wise remark it was. Not that I neglect the trunk,” added he, proudly; “for you see how I stand, – three-quarters of the back towards the enemy so as not to expose the soft parts. As for the legs,” cried he, contemptuously, “let them crack at them as long as they like.”

“And that ‘s the ‘invulnerable position,’” said Massing-bred; with less enthusiasm, however, than the discovery might seem to warrant.

“It is, sir; and if it was n’t for it there ‘s many a strapping fellow walking about this day-that would be lying with a marble counterpane over him. Billy Welsh, that fought Brian of Deanstown, was the first man I ever ‘put up’ in it. Billy had a slight crick of the neck, and could n’t get the head far enough round to the right, and the ball took him in the bridge of the nose, and carried that feature clean off, but never damaged him in any other respect whatever!”

“I must say that the loss was quite sufficient for a man who had the benefit of the ‘invulnerable position,’” said Massingbred, quietly.

“He thinks nothing of it. A chap in the Crow Street Theatre made him a better nose than ever he had, out of wax, I believe; and he has a winter one, with a blush of red on it, to make believe it was cold; and they tell me you ‘d never discover it was n’t his own.”

Magennis had now resumed his place at table, and seemed bent on making up for lost time by giving double measure of whiskey to his punch.