“Oh no! you don’t!” answered Mr. Tristram, giving him a little poke with his parasol.
“I beg your pardon; I do!”
“Well, you won’t, then, when—when—”
“You don’t certainly mean when I have seen your establishment?”
“When you have seen Paris, my boy. You want to be your own master here.”
“Oh, I have been my own master all my life, and I’m tired of it.”
“Well, try Paris. How old are you?”
“Thirty-six.”
“C’est le bel âge, as they say here.”
“What does that mean?”