his room was dark, the gas having gone out to get better air. he attempted to rise, but a chill, a throb, a groan, and back he lay hastily on the bed just as it was on the point of escaping him. suddenly a thought came to him. it was not a great thought, but it was such a thought as comes to those who have been thoughtless. he called for a blackamoor slave from abroad who did chores for him, and ordered a bottle of cooking brandy, then some club soda he had brought from london with him. next he drank a celery-glass of it, and after that he felt better. he then drank another.