“It is remarkable, Mr Feeder,” said the Doctor, beginning again slowly, “that the Romans, in those gorgeous and profuse entertainments of which we read in the days of the Emperors, when luxury had attained a height unknown before or since, and when whole provinces were ravaged to supply the splendid means of one Imperial Banquet—”
Here the offender, who had been swelling and straining, and waiting in vain for a full stop, broke out violently.
“Johnson,” said Mr Feeder, in a low reproachful voice, “take some water.”
The Doctor, looking very stern, made a pause until the water was brought, and then resumed:
“And when, Mr Feeder—”
But Mr Feeder, who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who knew that the Doctor would never come to a period before the young gentlemen until he had finished all he meant to say, couldn’t keep his eye off Johnson; and thus was caught in the fact of not looking at the Doctor, who consequently stopped.
“I beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr Feeder, reddening. “I beg your pardon, Doctor Blimber.”
“And when,” said the Doctor, raising his voice, “when, Sir, as we read, and have no reason to doubt—incredible as it may appear to the vulgar—of our time—the brother of Vitellius prepared for him a feast, in which were served, of fish, two thousand dishes—”
“Take some water, Johnson—dishes, Sir,” said Mr Feeder.
“Of various sorts of fowl, five thousand dishes.”