CHAPTER IV THE HUNDRED-POUND NOTE—continued
Mudd departed and Bobby made for the coffee-room.
He entered and looked around. A good many people were breakfasting in the big room, the ordinary English breakfast crowd at a big hotel; family parties, lone men and lone women, some reading letters, some papers, and all, somehow, with an air of divorcement from home.
Simon was there, seated at a little table on the right and enjoying himself. Now, and in his right mind, Simon gave Bobby another shock. Could it be possible that this pleasant-faced, jovial-looking gentleman, so well-dressed and à la mode, was Uncle Simon? What an improvement! So it seemed at first glance.
Simon looked up from his sausages—he was having sausages, saw Bobby—and with his unfailing memory of pleasant things, even dimly seen, recognised him as the man of last night.
"Hullo," said Simon, as the other came up to the table, "there you are again. Had breakfast?"
"No," said Bobby. "I'll sit here if I may." He drew a chair to the second place that was laid and took his seat.
"Have sausages," said Simon. "Nothing beats sausages."
Bobby ordered sausages, though he would have preferred anything else. He didn't want to argue.