They all had their mouths crammed too full to speak, but the Doctor signified his agreement with Bell's views by an approving nod.
The cutlets were pronounced first-rate, and it seemed as if they were, for they were all eaten, to the very last morsel.
For dessert they had coffee, which the Doctor brewed himself in a French coffee-pot over spirits-of-wine. He never allowed anybody but himself to concoct this precious beverage; for he made a point of serving it boiling hot, always declaring it was not fit to drink unless it burnt his tongue. This evening he took it so scalding that Altamont exclaimed-
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"You'll skin your throat!"
"Not a bit of it," was the Doctor's reply.
"Then your palate must be copper-sheathed," said Johnson.
"Not at all, friends. I advise you to copy my example. Many persons, and I am one, can drink coffee at a temperature of 131°."
"131°?" said Altamont; "why, that is hotter than the hand could bear!"
"Of course it is, Altamont, for the hand could not bear more than 122°, but the palate and tongue are less sensitive."