"Oh, not at all. I really enjoyed it," Whitaker protested.
"Like this place, eh?"
"Heavenly!" asserted the invalid with enthusiasm. "I can't thank you enough."
"Oh, if you forgive me for leaving you alone so much, we'll call it square." Ember lifted his voice: "Sum Fat, ahoy!"
The Chinaman appeared in the doorway, as suddenly and silently as if magically materialized by the sound of his name. He bore with circumspection a large tray decorated with glasses, siphons, decanters and a bowl of cracked ice.
"I make very remarkable damn fine quick guess what you want first," he observed suavely, placing the tray on a small table convenient to Ember's hand. "That all now?"
"You're a sulphur-coloured wizard with pigeon-toed eyes," replied Ember severely. "Go away from here instantly and prepare me all the dinner in the establishment, lest an evil fate overtake you."
"It is written," returned Sum Fat, "that I die after eight-seven years of honourable life from heart-failure on receiving long-deferred raise in wages."
He shuffled off, chuckling.
"Scotch or Irish?" demanded Ember, clinking glasses.