"And all wanted plans for country seats, of course?"
"Some of them—two, I think."
"Extra dry champagne, under-done canvas-backs and costly terrapin served every five minutes?"
"No. Extra dry canvas-backs, done-over terrapin, and cheap champagne. Served but once, thank God!"
"Wore your swell clothes, I presume?"
"Yes, swallow-tail on me every night and a head on me every morning," answered Lonnegan with a grave face. "Why do you ask, Mac?"
"Oh, just to keep in touch with the history of my country, old man."
While the two men talked, Pitkin and Van Brunt walked in—the latter a Dutch painter in New York for the winter, just arrived by steamer. The atmosphere of No. 3 was evidently congenial to the man, for, after a hand-shake all round, the Hollander produced his own pipe, filled it from a leather pouch in his pocket, and sat down before the fire as unconcerned and as contented as if he'd been one of the fire's circle from the day of its lighting. Good Bohemians, so called the world over, have an international code of manners, just as all club men of equal class agree upon certain details of dress and etiquette, no matter what their tongue. The brush, the chisel, the trowel, and the test-tube are so many talismans—open sesames to the whole fraternity.
The Hollander had overheard the last half of Mac's sally and Lonnegan's grave rejoinder.
"Yes, the terrapin and the canvas-back, I hear much of them. What does a terrapin look like, Mr. Lonnegan?"