"Just so!"
"They're at your disposal, sir!"
"Supper for two, the best you can do! You'd better do the waiting yourself."
He did not shout the last few words; the head-waiter bowed; he had understood.
At this moment Falander entered the room. He took his accustomed seat without as much as a look at the manager. The latter rose immediately. "At eight then," he whispered, as he passed the bar and went out.
The head-waiter brought Falander a bottle of absinth, and all the usual trimmings. As the actor seemed disinclined to enter into conversation, the head-waiter wiped the table with his napkin; when that was no good, he refilled the match-stand, and said:
"Supper to-night, the small rooms! Hm!"
"Of whom and of what are you talking?"
"Of him who's just gone out."
"I see! But that's unusual, he's generally so mean. Supper for one?"