'Damn you, Ol!' Mr Brindley exploded. 'I wish you wouldn't make yourself so confoundedly busy. Leave the turning to me. It takes a great artist to turn over, and you're only a blooming chauffeur. We'll begin again.'
'Sackcloth!' Mr Colclough whispered.
I could not estimate the length of the symphony; but my impression was one of extreme length. Halfway through it the players both took their coats off. There was no other surcease.
'What dost think of it, Bob?' asked Mr Colclough in the weird silence that reigned after they had finished. They were standing up and putting on their coats and wiping their faces.
'I think what I thought before,' said Mr Brindley. 'It's childish.'
'It isn't childish,' the other protested. 'It's ugly, but it isn't childish.'
'It's childishly clever,' Mr Brindley modified his description. He did not ask my opinion.
'Coffee's cold,' said Mrs Brindley.
'I don't want any coffee. Give me some Chartreuse, please. Have a drop o' green, Ol?'
'A split soda 'ud be more in my line. Besides, I'm just going to have my supper. Never mind, I'll have a drop, missis, and chance it. I've never tried Chartreuse as an appetizer.'