"My dear Mr. Plunkett," cried Morgan, conquering his mirth, "the
dinner is getting, cold. Let us sit down and eat. I am anxious to
get my spoon into that shark-fin soup. Business afterward."
"Sit down, gentlemen, if you please," added Reeves, pleasantly. "I
am sure Mr. Plunkett will not object. Perhaps a little time may be of
advantage to him in identifying--the gentleman he wishes to
arrest."
"No objections, I'm sure," said Plunkett, dropping into his chair
heavily. "I'm hungry myself. I didn't want to accept the
hospitality of you folks without giving you notice; that's all."
Reeves set bottles and glasses on the table.
"There's cognac," he said, "and anisada, and Scotch 'smoke,' and rye.
Take your choice."
Bridger chose rye, Reeves poured three fingers of Scotch for himself,
Morgan took the same. The sheriff, against much protestation, filled
his glass from the water bottle.
"Here's to the appetite," said Reeves, raising his glass, "of Mr.
Williams!" Morgan's laugh and his drink encountering sent him into a
choking splutter. All began to pay attention to the dinner, which
was well cooked and palatable.
"Williams!" called Plunkett, suddenly and sharply.
All looked up wonderingly. Reeves found the sheriff's mild eye
resting upon him.
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