“Well, you trot along to the telephone and order a taxi,” he said, “and I’ll pay for it.”
“Done with you,” said the other.
Their comradeship was now on its most felicitous level again, and they sat on the bench outside the club-house till the arrival of their unusual conveyance.
“Lunching at the Poppits’ to-morrow?” asked Major Flint.
“Yes. Meet you there? Good. Bridge afterwards, suppose.”
“Sure to be. Wish there was a chance of more red-currant fool. That was a decent tipple, all but the red-currants. If I had had all the old brandy that was served for my ration in one glass, and all the champagne in another, I should have been better content.”
Captain Puffin was a great cynic in his own misogynistic way.
“Camouflage for the fair sex,” he said. “A woman will lick up half a bottle of brandy if it’s called plum-pudding, and ask for more, whereas if you offered her a small brandy and soda, she would think you were insulting her.”
“Bless them, the funny little fairies,” said the Major.
“Well, what I tell you is true, Major,” said Puffin. “There’s old Mapp. Teetotaller she calls herself, but she played a bo’sun’s part in that red-currant fool. Bit rosy, I thought her, as we escorted her home.”