"Gone—left!" Luigi answered.
Mr. Bundercombe was obviously disappointed.
"Say, is that so!" he exclaimed, "Why, I thought he was a fixture! Been here a long time, had'nt he?"
"Nearly twelve years," Luigi admitted.
"Has he got a restaurant of his own?" Mr. Bundercombe asked.
Luigi shook his head.
"On the contrary, sir," he replied, "I think Louis has gone off his head. He has taken a very much inferior post at a very inferior place. A restaurant of a different class altogether—not at all comme il faut; a little place for the multitude—Giatron's, in Soho. The foolishness of it —for all his old clients must be useless! No one would eat in such a hole. It is most mysterious!"
We dined well and gayly. Mr. Bundercombe renewed many restaurant acquaintances and I am quite sure he thoroughly enjoyed himself. Every now and then, however, a shadow rested on his face. Watching him, I felt quite certain of the reason. It was only during the last few weeks that I had begun to realize the immense good nature of the man. He was worrying about Louis.
We sat there until nearly ten o'clock. When we rose to go Mr. Bundercombe turned to us. "Say," he asked, a little diffidently, "would you people object to just dropping in at this Giatron's? Or will you go off somewhere by yourselves and meet me afterward?"
"We will go wherever you go, dad," Eve declared. "We are not going to leave you alone when we do have an evening off."