He demanded pepper (which had been forgotten).
He wanted more claret (when all had been finished).
Finally he demanded whole-meal bread instead of the ordinary kind.
"There isn't any," I said.
"Why not?" he demanded, aggrieved.
I laughed at him across the big table-napkin that I had spread as a cloth, pinning it down with four of the irregular, sun-heated flints that lay loose on the turf all about us. I said: "I suppose you're accustomed to have everything 'there' that you happen to want?"
"I am not," said the Honourable Jim. "But I'm accustomed to getting it 'there' one way or another."
"I see. Is there anything else that I ought to do for you that I've forgotten?"
"There is. You haven't called me 'Sir,'" said the Honourable Jim. "I like you to call me 'Sir.'"
Immediately I made up my mind that the word should never pass my lips to him again.