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'
'The ladies drink white wine--sherry,' rejoined Jawleyford, determined to
make a last effort to save his port. 'However, you can have a bottle of
port to yourself, you know.'
'Very well,' said Sponge.
'One condition I must attach,' said Mr. Jawleyford, 'which is, that you
_finish_ the bottle. Don't let us have any waste, you know.'
'I'll do my best,' said Sponge, determined to have it; whereupon Mr.
Jawleyford growled the word 'Port' to the butler, who had been witnessing
his master's efforts to direct attention to the negus. Thwarted in his
endeavour, Jawleyford's headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how
things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his
fate.
'I'll leave a note on my writing-table when I go to bed,' observed
Jawleyford to Spigot, as the latter was retiring after depositing the
bottle; 'and tell Harry to start with it early in the morning, so as to get
to Woodmansterne about breakfast--nine o'clock, or so, at latest,' added
he.
'Yes, sir,' replied Spigot, withdrawing with an air.


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