He went on with his solitary game
and, to all appearance, paid no heed to his companion's words.
Monty was not in the humour to be ignored. He flung himself on
the ground opposite to his companion.
"What a slow-blooded sort of creature you are, Trent!" he said.
"Don't you ever drink, don't you ever take life a little more
gaily?"
"Not when I am carrying my life in my hands," Trent answered grimly.
"I get drunk sometimes - when there's nothing on and the blues come
- never at a time like this though."
"It is pleasant to hear," the old man remarked, stretching out his
limbs, "that you do occasionally relax. In your present frame of
mind - you will not be offended I trust - you are just a little
heavy as a companion. Never mind. In a year's time I will be
teaching you how to dine - to drink champagne, to - by the way,
Trent, have you ever tasted champagne?"
"Never," Trent answered gruffly "Don't know that I want to either."
Monty was compassionate. "My young friend," he said, "I would give
my soul to have our future before us, to have your youth and never
to have tasted champagne. Phew! the memory of it is delicious!"
"Why don't you go to bed?" Trent said. "You'll need all your
strength to-morrow!"
Monty waved his hand with serene contempt.
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