The Babe looked up apologetically.
“I’m afraid I ate all the eggs, and the bacon must be cold by now,” he said. “But I’ll send for some more.”
“No thanks. Where’s the tea?”
The Babe rang the bell.
“It’ll be here in a moment. I drank cocoa.”
Leamington finished his soda water, and sat down.
“There is no end to your greatness. Cocoa! Great Scot! My tongue is the colour of mortar.”
“I’m so sorry. I feel quite well, thanks. Will you have some Eno’s fruit salts? I know my landlady’s got some, because she offered me them the other day when I had a cold. Here’s your tea. Do you ever read the Pink ’un? It’s funny without being prudish.”
Leamington poured out some tea.
“Don’t read, Babe; it’s unsociable. Talk to me while I eat.”