There was certainly no word as yet which, it could be definitely said, was meant to wound, but underneath the raillery Thresk was conscious of a rasp, a bitterness just held in check through the presence of a stranger.

Not that Thresk was spared his share of it.

At the very outset he, the guest whom it was such a rare piece of good fortune for Ballantyne to meet, came in for a taste of the whip.
"So you could actually give four-and-twenty hours to Chitipur, Mr.
Thresk.

That was most kind and considerate of you.

Chitipur is grateful.
Let us drink to it! By the way what will you drink?
Our cellar is rather limited in camp.