“It’s none too warm for me,” said the man at the other corner of the fire--and then they all laughed, though why it would be hard to say. Isaac watched this little episode at a distance, his eyes following his inclinations, which were all with the humours of the “company.” He chuckled, too, in a kind of regretful echo of their laughter; but he was relieved to see that his place was still kept for him. He turned again to Harry with that sense of losing all the fun, which made him vehement. “Mr. Harry,” he said, “bein’ here, take your pleasure a bit! It don’t do no more harm to be lively like, when you’re here, than to be i’ th’ dumps. It’s again’ my principles; and it’ll be moor again’ me when the missis comes to hear on’t--but, gosh! when a man _is_ here----” “You think he might as well get tipsy when he’s about it? I am much obliged to you for your advice, but I don’t think I’ll take it, Isaac,” said Harry. “Mind yourself, my old man, or there’s no telling what the missis may say.” “That’s all your fun, Mr. Harry,” said Isaac with dignity; “there’s some you might say that to; but I’m a moral man, and always was. You never heard nought of the sort o’ Isaac Oliver. Coming here as I’ve told ye is not a thing I hold wi’--short o’ a strong reason like the present--short o’ plucking a brand out o’ t’ burning like I’m doing now, you’ll not catch me night nor day, heat nor cold, in a public. I pass the door,” Isaac said with pride, “ten times in a week or more, but who e’er sees me turn in ’cept for a strong occasion like the present? Nay, nay, if you were outside I’d go on my knees to ye to bide outside; but I say again, master, bein’ here, why, it’s best to conduct yourself as if you were here. What is the good o’ looking as if ye were at t’kirk? You’re not at t’kirk, that’s the fac’. Bein’ here,” he continued, slowly waving his pipe in the air, and giving himself over to his oratorical impulse. “Bein’ here----” “Isaac--t’auld maister as you call him--is he at home?” This sudden interruption was very startling. Isaac had drunk little; but there was a sort of imaginative intoxication abroad in the genial atmosphere of the “Red Lion,” and he was infected with the drowsy conviviality of the place, to which half shut eyes and a sleepy complacency seemed habitual. This sudden question was like a _douche_ of cold water in his face. He stopped short in his speech with a sort of gasp, and stared at his companion. “Ay, master--he’s at home,” said Isaac, slowly; but being a prudent Northcountryman he was sorry for this admission as soon as he had made it; “if he haven’t started again,” he added, cautiously. “Now and again he’ll start off----” “That’s nonsense,” said Harry, sharply. “I hope I know his ways as well as you do. I’ll go and see him to-morrow and have it out.”