Strong in my conviction that he would not have been able to
resist lobster, I made ready his hot foot-bath with its solution of
brine-crystals and put the absorbent fruit-lozenges close by, together
with his sleeping-suit, his bed-cap, and his knitted night-socks.
Scarcely was all ready when I heard his step.
He greeted me curtly on entering, swiftly averting his face as I took
his stick, hat, and top-coat. But I had seen the worst at one glance.
The Honourable George was more than spotted--he was splotchy. It was
as bad as that.
"Lobster _and_ oysters," I made bold to remark, but he affected
not to have heard, and proceeded rapidly to disrobe. He accepted the
foot-bath without demur, pulling a blanket well about his shoulders,
complaining of the water's temperature, and demanding three of the
fruit-lozenges.
"Not what you think at all," he then said. "It was that cursed
bar-le-duc jelly. Always puts me this way, and you quite well know
it."
"Yes, sir, to be sure," I answered gravely, and had the satisfaction
of noting that he looked quite a little foolish. Too well he knew I
could not be deceived, and even now I could surmise that the lobster
had been supported by sherry. How many times have I not explained to
him that sherry has double the tonic vinosity of any other wine and
may not be tampered with by the sensitive.
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