What the matter was dawned on him gradually: time was when
this chamber had been richly, even exquisitely, furnished and
appointed. Now it presented rather a dejected spectacle of faded
splendor, not entirely unlike a fine gentleman of the old school fallen
among bad companions and into tattered ill repute.
The untidy host, more untidy than ever here in the full light, dragged
his slippered feet across the threadbare carpet to a corner cupboard,
from which he took a bottle and two glasses.
"We can have a drink anyhow," he said in that dubious tone which so
harmonized both with himself and his sitting-room. "After which we'll
see what's to eat. Terry fired the cook last week and there's been
small feasting since."
Packard accepted a moderate drink, the rancher filled his own glass
generously, and they drank standing. This ceremony briefly performed
and chairs dragged comfortably up to the fireplace, Packard's host
called out loudly:
"Hi, Terry! There's a man here wants something to eat. Anything left?"
"If he's hungry," came the cool answer from a room somewhere toward the
other end of the long house, "why can't he forage for himself? Wants
me to bring his rations in there and feed it to him, I suppose!"
Packard lifted his eyebrows humorously.
"Is that Terry?" he asked.
"That's Terry," grumbled the rancher. "She's in the kitchen now.
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