"That's all right," he replied. "Listen. Don't say a word about
my arrival to your mistress at present. I have some writing to do.
Bring me a glass of sherry at once, or mix a cocktail if you can
do so without being missed, and take Jimmy away and give him some
whisky and soda."
"But what about your own dinner, sir?"
"I'll have a tray in the gun room," his master decided, "say in
twenty minutes' time. And, Mills, who did you say were dining?"
"Two of the young officers from the Depot, sir--Mr. Harrison and
Mr. Sinclair--and Mr. Hamar Lessingham."
"Lessingham, eh?" Sir Henry repeated, as he seated himself before
his writing-table. "Mills," he added, in a confidential whisper,
"what port did you serve?"
The butler's expression was one of conscious rectitude.
"Not the vintage, sir," he announced with emphasis. "Some very
excellent wood port, which we procured for shooting luncheons.
The young gentlemen like it."
"You're a jewel, Mills," his master declared. "Now you understand
--an aperitif for me now, some whisky for Jimmy in your room, and
not a word about my being here. Good night, Jimmy. Sorry we were
too late for the mackerel, but we had some grand sport, all the same.
You'll have a day or two's rest ashore now."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Dumble replied. "We got in just in time. There's
something more than a squall coming up nor'ards.
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