"She? Who?"
"Why, Miss Baxter."
"Pretty small potatoes, I guess," said J. B. absently, one eye on Teddy.
"She thinks you're all right, old man."
"Bosh!" said J. B., resenting the tone more than the words.
"She told me the other day she thought Breckinridge was a beautiful name. 'Why, Miss Baxter,' I said, 'you ought to go to Kentucky; that's J. B.'s old home. It's so full of Breckinridges, you can't throw a stone without hitting one of 'em!' 'Really?' she says, just like that. 'Really?' She thought I was in earnest!"
"Every Breckinridge you hit would have a gun in one hip-pocket and a flask in the other," said J. B., turning the talk from Muriel as best he could. "Bad men to throw stones at, on the whole——"
"Champagne, sir?"
"No! Good Heavens, do you suppose the doctor expects us to eat all that pudding and jelly stuff, and fruit and nuts and cheese into the bargain? It's—what d'ye call it?—Homeric, that's what it is—a Homeric feast!"
"Whash savin' up for, J. B.?" Teddy shouted from his seat; and J. B.'s face darkened. He directed a meaning look at Teddy's nearest neighbours; but by this time all the young men were beginning to be somewhat flushed, whether from too much eating or too much drinking, and there was an amazing amount of loud talk and hilarity. Teddy repeated his question: "Why'n't you drinkin', J. B.? Huddesley, you've lef' out Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor's my frien', Huddesley. All my frenge here——" He made a sweeping gesture, and knocked over a preserve-dish with a stunning clatter, gazed at the ruin a minute, then burst into a yell of laughter, in which, sad to relate, he was joined by more than one at the table. Teddy suddenly straightened up and looked around with profound gravity. "Somebody's makin' great deal noise!" said he, with elaborate distinctness of utterance. And then returned to the charge: "Why'n't you take some champagne, J. B.? Free's air, doctor's champagne. You do' wan' hurt doctor's feelingsh, J. B.?" he inquired pathetically.