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"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again
to turn the mutton. But the old gentleman did _not_ dry there, but
went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed,
and sputtered, and began to look very black and uncomfortable.
Never was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a gutter.
"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the
water spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a
quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"
"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.
"Your cap, sir?"
"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman, rather
gruffly.
"But,--sir,--I'm very sorry," said Gluck, hesitatingly; "but--really,
sir,--you're--putting the fire out."
"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor
dryly.
Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was
such a strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away
at the string meditatively for another five minutes.
"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length.


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