He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. It's hereditary, like de jigt, vat you call it—gout —haw! haw!" "If the child is destined to the gibbet, Van Galgebrok," replied the Master, joining in the laugh, "it'll never be choked by a footman's cravat, that's certain; but, in regard to going back empty-handed," continued he, altering his tone, and assuming a dignified air, "it's quite out of the question. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened.
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