| 123 | 124 | 125 | 126 | 127 |
| 1 | 66 | 132 | 197 | 263 |
|
Pitman fell into bitter musing; here he was, ridiculously shorn,
absurdly disguised, in the company of a drunken man in spectacles, and
waiting for a champagne luncheon in a restaurant painfully foreign. What
would his principals think, if they could see him? What if they knew his
tragic and deceitful errand?
From these reflections he was aroused by the entrance of the alien with
the brandies and sodas. Michael took one and bade the waiter pass the
other to his friend.
Pitman waved it from him with his hand. 'Don't let me lose all
self-respect,' he said.
'Anything to oblige a friend,' returned Michael. 'But I'm not going to
drink alone. Here,' he added to the waiter, 'you take it.' And, then,
touching glasses, 'The health of Mr Gideon Forsyth,' said he.
'Meestare Gidden Borsye,' replied the waiter, and he tossed off the
liquor in four gulps.
'Have another?' said Michael, with undisguised interest. 'I never saw a
man drink faster. It restores one's confidence in the human race.
But the waiter excused himself politely, and, assisted by some one from
without, began to bring in lunch.
125
Page
Quick Jump
|