The things we do!

If I were worth ten
thousand a year, I cannot help inwardly reflecting, and kept a large
account in Threadneedle Street, I cannot help thinking he would have
favoured me with the whole palm.
The arrival of these two grandees has somehow cast a solemnity over the
company. The weather is talked about: brilliant in itself, it does not
occasion very brilliant remarks among Colonel Newcome's guests. Sir Brian
really thinks it must be as hot as it is in India. Sir Thomas de Boots,
swelling in his white waistcoat, in the armholes of which his thumbs are
engaged, smiles scornfully, and wishes Sir Brian had ever felt a good
sweltering day in the hot winds in India. Sir Brian withdraws the
untenable proposition that London is as hot as Calcutta. Mr. Binnie looks
at his watch, and at the Colonel. "We have only your nephew, Tom, to wait
for," he says; "I think we may make so bold as to order the dinner,"--a
proposal heartily seconded by Mr. Frederick Bayham.
The dinner appears steaming, borne by steaming waiters.


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