I chuckled continuously. I refused the parfait aux frais and the savoury in my eagerness for the end of the meal. Revenge was sufficient sweets.
"Haw, hum!" I murmured, caressing my moustache. "Bring me a Damtidam."
I knew his little phial must be exhausted long since. I intended to give him a bottle.
"Did your lordship say Damtidam?"
"Damtidam!" I roared, while my heart beat voluptuous music. "You don't mean to say you don't keep it?"
"Oh no, my lord! We laid in a big stock of it; but Lord Porchester was that fond of it (used to drink it like your lordship does champagne), I doubt if I could lay my hand on a bottle."
"What an awful bo-ah!" I yawned. "I suppose I'll have to get a bottle of my own out of that little black box under my bed. I couldn't possibly go without it after dinner. Hang it all, the key is in my other trousers!"
"Oh, don't trouble, my lord," said Jones anxiously. "I'll run and see if I can find any."
I waited, gloating.
Jones returned gleefully.
"I've found plenty, my lord," he said, setting down a brimming liqueur-glass.
He lingered about, clearing the table. His eye was upon me. I drank the Damtidam. Then Jones departed, and I went about kicking the furniture, and striding about in my desolate grandeur, like Napoleon at St. Helena.
Presently the Infant and Towers came rushing in, choking with laughter.
"Your arrival has fired afresh all Jones's aristocratic ambitions," gurgled Towers. "Ha! ha! ha!"
