'I don't want any supper,' he said, curtly.
Gurchy, though a waiter, was human, and looked astonished, while
Vandeloup remonstrated in a suave manner.
'But, my dear sir,' he said, leaning back in his chair, 'you must
have something to eat. I assure you,' with a significant smile, 'you
will need it.'
Meddlechip's lips twitched a little as the Frenchman spoke, then,
with an uneasy laugh, he ordered something, and drew his chair up to
the table.
'And, waiter,' said Vandeloup, softly, as Gurchy was rolling out of
the door, 'bring some wine, will you? Pommery, I think, is best,' he
added, turning to Meddlechip.
'What you like,' returned that gentleman, impatiently, 'I don't
care.'
'That's a great mistake,' replied Gaston, coolly; 'bad wine plays
the deuce with one's digestion--two bottles of Pommery, waiter.'
Gurchy nodded, that is to say his head disappeared for a moment in
the foam of his collar, then re-appeared again as he slowly rolled
out of the door and vanished.
'Now, then, sir,' said Meddlechip, sharply, rising from his seat and
closing the door, 'what did you bring me here for?'
M. Vandeloup raised his eyebrows in surprise.
'How energetic you are, my dear Kestrike,' he said, smoothly, lying
down on the sofa, and contemplating his shoes with great
satisfaction; 'just the same noisy, jolly fellow as of yore.'
'Damn you!' said the other, fiercely, at which Gaston laughed.
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