"What--they're loaded are they?" said he.
"Of c-course!"
"They're handsome tools, Ronald, and with your monogram, I see!"
"Yes. Is your f-flask empty, Chichester?"
"No, I think not," answered Mr. Chichester, still stooping above the
pistol in his hand.
"Then give it me, will you--m-my throat's on fire."
"Surely you 've had enough, Ronald? Did you know this flint was loose?"
"I'm n-not drunk, I t-tell you. I know when I've had enough,
g-give me some brandy, Chit, I know there's p-precious little left."
"Why then, fix this flint first, Ronald, I see you have all the
necessary tools here." So saying, Mr. Chichester rose and began
feeling through his pockets, while Barrymaine, grumbling, stooped
above the pistol-case. Then, even as he did so, Mr. Chichester drew
out a silver flask, unscrewed it, and thereafter made a certain quick,
stealthy gesture behind his companion's back, which done, he screwed
up the flask again, shook it, and, as Barrymaine rose, held it out
to him:
"Yes, I'm afraid there's very little left, Ronald," said he. With a
murmur of thanks Barrymaine took the flask and, setting it to his
lips, drained it at a gulp, and handed it back.
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