by Florizel Hammond who, at evening entertainments, invariably divided his time between the rooms where food and drink were served.
You author chaps must get the low-down on all of us at these bull-fights, he opened up on Gareth.
We'd like to, Gareth replied.
Well, God knows, there's enough. Take a few notes. What do you want, 'paspe, a lobster sandwich or some Smithfield ham?
Both, Campaspe replied.
I thought I was taking you to supper, Gareth grumbled, as Florizel wandered away to execute his commission.
I asked you to, Campaspe smiled at him, but you were so long in accepting my invitation that I thought I might starve if I waited for you to fill my plate. Why don't you share supper with Florizel and me?
The large room was pleasantly full. Some, holding their plates, ate standing. Others sat, while they rested their plates on the arms of their chairs. In the centre of the room, on a great round table, heaped with dishes, food steamed in casseroles. A number of waiters in uniform, bearing trays laden with glasses of champagne, solemnly passed from guest to guest. The odour of Vague Souvenir soared above the confusion of other aromas.
Have you heard about Dennis Cahill? Florizel, returning with heaped plates, demanded, and without waiting for a reply went on, Well, you know, be-
