Our proceedings were opened by Miss Hicks, who asked Colonel Escott,
'Well, Colonel, have you had your bath this morning?'
The Colonel chuckled, and answered, 'Oh, yes--yes, yes--couldn't
forego my bath, you know--couldn't possibly forego my bath.'
'And what was the temperature of the water?' she continued.
'Fifty-two--fifty-two--three degrees warmer than the air--three
degrees,' responded the Colonel, still chuckling, as if the whole
affair had been extremely funny.
'And you, Mr. Flaherty, I suppose you've been to Bayonne?'
'No, I've broken me habit, and not left the hotel.'
Subsequent experience taught me that these were conventional modes by
which the conversation was launched every day, like the preliminary
moves in chess. We had another ritual for dinner: Miss Hicks then
inquired if the colonel had taken his ride, and Flaherty played his
game of golf. The next inevitable step was common to both meals.
Colonel Escott would pour himself a glass of the _vin ordinaire_, a
jug of which was set by every plate, and holding it up to the light,
exclaim with simulated gusto, 'Ah! Fine old wine! Remarkably full rich
flavour!' At this pleasantry we would all gently laugh; and the word
was free.
Sir Richard, as I have said, appeared to be an attentive and
appreciative listener, not above smiling at our mildest sallies; but,
watching him out of the corner of an eye, I noticed that my own
observations seemed to strike him with peculiar force--which led me to
talk _at_ him.
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