So saying, he brought the car to a standstill before a sign which bore the words, “Royal Goat.”
Mr. Lavender, deep sunk in the whirlpool of feeling which had been stirred in him by his chauffeur's cynicism, gazed at the square redbrick building with bewildered eyes.
“It's quite O. K.,” said Joe; “I used to call here regular when I was travellin' in breeches. Where the commercials are gathered together the tap is good,” he added, laying a finger against the side of his nose. “And they've a fine brand of pickles. Here's your coupon.”
Thus encouraged, Mr. Lavender descended from the car, and, accompanied by Blink, entered the hotel and sought the coffee-room.
A maid of robust and comely appearance, with a fine free eye, divested him of his overcoat and the coupon, and pointed to a table and a pale and intellectual-looking young man in spectacles who was eating.
“Have you any more beef?” said the latter without looking up.
“No, sir,” replied the maid.
“Then bring me the ham and eggs,” he added.
“Here's another coupon—and anything else you've got.”
Mr. Lavender, whose pangs had leaped in him at the word “beef,” gazed at the bare bone of the beef-joint, and sighed.