Early, however, as it was, Timothy had contrived to make a glorious fire
upon the hearth, and to lay out a slight breakfast of biscuits, butter,
and cold beef, flanked by a square case-bottle of Jamaica, and a huge
jorum of boiled milk. Tom Draw had not yet made his appearance, but the
sound of his ponderous tramp, mixed with strange oaths and loud
vociferations, showed that he was on foot, and ready for the field.
"I'll tell you what, Master A---," said Archer as he stood with his back
to the fire, mixing some rum with sugar and cold water, previous to
pouring the hot milk into it--"You'll be so cold in that light jacket on
the stand this morning, that you'll never be able to hold your gun true,
if you get a shot. It froze quite hard last night, and there's some
wind, too, this morning."
"That's very true," replied the Commodore, "but devil a thing have I got
else to wear, unless I put on my great coat, and that's too much the
other way--too big and clumsy altogether. I shall do well enough, I dare
say; and after all, my drilling jacket is not much thinner than your
fustian."
"No," said Harry, "but you don't fancy that I'm going out in this, do
you? No! no! I'm too old a hand for that sort of thing--I know that to
shoot well, a man must be comfortable, and I mean to be so.
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