"I'll lay you even money that Pardoe turns up his toes before you, Dagmar!" cut in Mr. Husband.
"Very good," said Sir William. "How much?"
"A hundred!"
"It is a wager!" Sir William took out his pencil and scrawled some figures on his shirt cuff.
"I'll take you too, Husband," cried Mr. Cavanagh.
"And I," chorused Dr. Fulton and Sir Charles.
"No thanks," retorted Mr. Husband drily. "My book is full. How are you feeling yourself, Venner?"
"Nice and poorly, thanks, but with care I'll out-last the lot of you!" He broke out into a fit of coughing as he finished speaking, and the others bending forward, watched him eagerly. Their expressions reminded me of a lot of hungry carnivora eyeing a bone held just beyond their reach.
They drank their soup in silence, but while I served to them the entrée, they conversed again.
"I'm in the hands of a quack," began Nevil Pardoe. "The enterprising devil has agreed to cure me for the sake of an advertisement."