“Look here,” he said, “won’t you come out and have dinner with me somewhere?”
Peer started at his visitor. What did all this mean?
“I’m a regular Spartan, as a rule, but they’ve just finished dividing up my father’s estate, so I’m in funds for the moment, and why shouldn’t we have a little dinner to celebrate? If you want to change, I can wait outside—but come just as you are, of course, if you prefer.”
Peer was more and more perplexed. Was there something behind all this? Or was the fellow simply an astonishingly good sort? Giving it up at last, he changed his collar and put on his best suit and went.
For the first time in his life he found himself in a first-class restaurant, with small tables covered with snow-white tablecloths, flowers in vases, napkins folded sugar-loaf shape, cut-glass bowls, and coloured wine-glasses. Ferdinand seemed thoroughly at home, and treated his companion with a friendly politeness. And during the meal he managed to make the talk turn most of the time on Peer’s childhood and early days.
When they had come to the coffee and cigars, Ferdinand leaned across the table towards him, and said: “Look here, don’t you think we two ought to say thee and thou* to each other?”
* “Tutoyer,” the mode of address of intimate friendship or
relationship.
“Oh, yes!” said Peer, really touched now.
“We’re both Holms, you know.”
“Yes. So we are.”