[He hands the towel to MICHELE. PIKE rapidly descends the steps, goes to the breakfast-table, joining VASILI and taking the seat opposite him.]
VASILI
[gayly]
You're a true patriot, my friend. You allow no profane hand to cook your national dish. I trust you will be as successful with that wicked motor of mine.
PIKE
[chuckling]
Lord bless your soul, I've put a self-binder together after a pony-engine had butted it half-way through a brick deepoe!
[Tucks his napkin in collar of his waistcoat and applies himself to the meal.]
[HORACE and HAWCASTLE read their papers, now and then casting glances of great annoyance at PIKE.][pg 051]
[LADY CREECH lets her periodical rest in her lap, and without any abating or concealment, fixes PIKE with a basilisk glare which continues. He is unconscious of all this, his back being three-quarters to their group.]