The old gentleman was delighted. “And I have been much impressed by your philosophical reflections,” he said. “Tell me, are you at all interested in old brandy?”
“Well, not philosophically,” said Gumbril. “As a mere empiric only.”
“As a mere empiric!” The old gentleman laughed. “Then let me beg you to accept a case. I have a cellar which I shall never drink dry, alas! before I die. My only wish is that what remains of it shall be distributed among those who can really appreciate it. In you, sir, I see a fitting recipient of a case of brandy.”
“You overwhelm me,” said Gumbril. “You are too kind, and, I may add, too flattering.” The train, which was a mortally slow one, came grinding for what seemed the hundredth time to a halt.
“Not at all,” said the old gentleman. “If you have a card, sir.”
Gumbril searched his pockets. “I have come without one.”
“Never mind,” said the old gentleman. “I think I have a pencil. If you will give me your name and address, I will have the case sent to you at once.”
Leisurely, he hunted for the pencil, he took out a notebook. The train gave a jerk forward.
“Now, sir,” he said.
Gumbril began dictating. “Theodore,” he said slowly.