A paraffin stove stood in the fire-place also, own brother to the one
in the dining-room; Julia stooped to light it, while her father sank
into a chair.

"Gillat," he said in a voice of hopelessness, "I am a ruined man."

"No?" Mr. Gillat answered sympathetically, but without surprise. "Dear
me!" He carefully put down the hat and stick he had brought with him,
the one on the edge of the table, the other against it, both so badly
balanced that they fell to the ground.

"You shouldn't do it, you know," he said, with mild reproof; "you
really shouldn't."

"Do it!" the Captain cried. "Do what?"

Julia looked up from the floor where she knelt trimming the
stove-lamp. "Have five whiskeys and sodas," she said, examining her
father judicially.

He did not deny the charge; Julia's observation was not to be avoided.

"And what is five?" he demanded with dignity.

"Three too many for you," she answered.

"Do you mean to insinuate that I am intoxicated?" he asked. "Johnny,"
he turned pathetically to his friend, "my own daughter insinuates that
I am intoxicated."