“Times. What I don’t understand?” cried Uncle Paul, who was foaming with rage at being so unceremoniously treated.
“Yes, what you don’t understand. Thanks, Miss Mullion, that will do. But there’s no salt.”
“I do forget so now,” said poor Madge.
“Yes, and what can you expect, if you stuff your brains full of other things?” snarled Uncle Paul, with the result that Madge beat a hasty retreat, and the maid came in with the salt and the rest of the breakfast.
“Now look here, Uncle Paul,” said Geoffrey, as the old man, after growling and snarling a little over his curry, took a liqueur of brandy in a very small cup of coffee, and seemed to calm down, “you are a shrewd old fellow.”
“Shrewd?” he cried, “I’m an old fool, a lunatic, an ass, or I should never have brought you up here.”
“Ah! we all do foolish things sometimes.”
“Yes, even to running after artful, coquetting jades of girls.”
“Well,” said Geoffrey—“By George! what a capital sole, flaky and creamy as can be. Try a bit.”
“Curse your sole!” snarled the old man, with his mouth full of curry.