"Uncommon bad mutton chops these are," said Staveley, as they sat at their meal in the coffee-room of the Imperial Hotel.
"Are they?" said Graham. "They seem to me much the same as other mutton chops."
"They are uneatable. And look at this for coffee! Waiter, take this away, and have some made fresh."
"Yes, sir," said the waiter, striving to escape without further comment.
"And waiter—"
"Yes, sir;" and the poor overdriven functionary returned.
"Ask them from me whether they know how to make coffee. It does not consist of an unlimited supply of lukewarm water poured over an infinitesimal proportion of chicory. That process, time-honoured in the hotel line, will not produce the beverage called coffee. Will you have the goodness to explain that in the bar as coming from me?"
"Yes, sir," said the waiter; and then he was allowed to disappear.
"How can you give yourself so much trouble with no possible hope of an advantageous result?" said Felix Graham.
"That's what you weak men always say. Perseverance in such a course will produce results. It is because we put up with bad things that hotel-keepers continue to give them to us. Three or four Frenchmen were dining with my father yesterday at the King's Head, and I had to sit at the bottom of the table. I declare to you that I literally blushed for my country; I did indeed. It was useless to say anything then, but it was quite clear that there was nothing that one of them could eat. At any hotel in France you'll get a good dinner; but we're so proud that we are ashamed to take lessons." And thus Augustus Staveley was quite as loud against his own country, and as laudatory with regard to others, as Felix Graham had been before breakfast.