"Come along, we can't get in!" I called to my companion.
But he was in no hurry, so I chatted with the landlord while waiting for him.
"Yes, it's rather an exclusive club. Only eight couples, but just the same they've hired a full orchestra--rich people, you see."
They had refreshments and plenty of champagne, and then they danced as though their lives depended on it. Why they did it? Oh, well, young people, rich and fashionable, bored by Sunday evening at home; they wanted to work off the week's idleness in two hours, so they danced. Not unusual, really.
"And of course," said the landlord, "I earn more in those two hours than in the whole of the evening otherwise. Liberal people--they don't count the pennies. And yet there's no wear and tear, because of course people like that don't dance on their heels."
The carpenter, who had come halfway back, stood listening to us.
"What sort of people are they, generally speaking?" I inquired. "Businessmen, officers, or what?"
"Excuse me, but I can't tell you that," replied the landlord. "It's a private party; that's all I can say. To-night, for instance, I don't even know who they are. The money just came by special messenger."
"It's Flaten," said the carpenter.
"Flaten--is it?" said the landlord, as though he did not know it. "Mr. Flaten has been here before; he's a fine gentleman, always in fashionable company. So it's Mr. Flaten, is it? Well, excuse me, I must have another look round the hall--"