Here he filled a glass for Mr. Brook, which the coachman emptied at a
draught; but after having done so he made a wry face, and looked
reproachfully at his host.
"What the deuce was that you gave me?" he asked, with some indignation.
"What should it be but rum-punch?" answered Milsom; "the same as you've
been drinking all the evening."
"I'll be hanged if it is," answered Mr. Brook; "you've been playing off
some of your publican's tricks upon me, Mr. Maunders, pouring the dregs
of some stale porter into the bowl, or something of that kind. Don't
you do it again. I'm a 'ver goo'-temper' chap, ber th' man tha'
takes--hic--libert' with--hic--once don't take--hic--libert' with m'
twice. So, don't y' do that 'gen!"
This was said with tipsy solemnity; and then Mr. Brook made another
effort to shuffle the cards, and stooped a great many times to pick up
some of those he had dropped, but seemed never to succeed in picking up
all of them.
"I'll tell you what it is, Maunders," he said, at last; "I'm getting an
old man; my sight isn't what it used to be. I'm bless' if--can tell a
king from--queen."
Before he could complete the shuffling of the cards to his own
satisfaction, Mr. Brook's eyelids began to droop over his watery eyes,
and all at once his head fell forward on the table, amongst the
scattered cards, his hair flopping against a fallen candlestick and
smoking tallow candle.
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