“Rum,” said Mr. Slurk, turning fiercely upon him. “Have you got a fire anywhere?”

“We can light one directly, Sir,” said the landlord.

“Which will throw out no heat until it is bedtime,” interrupted Mr. Slurk. “Is there anybody in the kitchen?”

Not a soul. There was a beautiful fire. Everybody had gone, and the house door was closed for the night.

“I will drink my rum-and-water,” said Mr. Slurk, “by the kitchen fire.” So, gathering up his hat and newspaper, he stalked solemnly behind the landlord to that humble apartment, and throwing himself on a settle by the fireside, resumed his countenance of scorn, and began to read and drink in silent dignity.