Mr. Faringfield's face darkened. Then, with some sarcasm, he said:

"He did not go out of his way to stop at the warehouse in coming from
the landing."

"Why, no doubt the ship did not anchor near our wharf. He came by the
_Sophy_ brig. He took some tea, and changed his clothes, and went out
to meet a fellow passenger at the coffee-house. They had some business
together."

"Business with a pack of cards, I make no doubt; or else with rum or
madeira."

'Twas the second of these conjectures that turned out right. For Mr.
Edward did not come home in time to occupy at supper the place that
had been set for him. When he did appear, he said he had already
eaten. Perhaps it was to strengthen his courage for meeting his
father, that he had imbibed to the stage wherein he vilely smelt of
spirits and his eyes and face were flushed. He was certainly bold
enough when he received his father's cold greeting in the parlour,
about nine o'clock at night.

"And, pray, what circumstance gives us the honour of this visit?"
asked Mr. Faringfield, not dissembling his disgust.

"Why," says Mr. Ned, quite undaunted, and dropping his burly form into
an armchair with an air of being perfectly at home, "to tell the
truth, 'tis a hole, the place you sent me to; a very hell-hole."