"You have a merry party _concealed_ there, Master Host," said I.
"Ye-ye-s-Sir, very," replied he, and tittered again, as though he were
galvanizing his defunct merriment.
"Quite exclusive?"
"Quite, Sir, un-unless you are introduced--Oh dear!" and having mixed a
small tumbler of toddy, he disappeared into that inner region of smoke
from which I was separated by the black door endorsed "_Parlour_."
I had determined to seek elsewhere for a more social party, when the
thumping of tables and gingle of glasses induced me to abide the issue.
After a momentary pause, a firm and not unmusical voice was heard, pealing
forth the words of a song which I had written when a boy, and had procured
insertion for in a country newspaper. At the conclusion the thumping was
repeated, and the waiter having given another of his _stenographical_
orders, I could not resist desiring him to inform the vocal gentleman that
I craved a few words with him.
"Yes-Sir--don't-think-'ll come--'cos he-'s-in-a-corner."
"Perhaps you will try the experiment," said I.
"Certainly-Sir-two-gins-please-ma'am." And having been supplied with the
required beverage, he also made his _exit in fumo_.
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