"I suppose," I observed tentatively, "that this is a joke."
"A joke?" echoed Gardiner. "Rather! It will be the best joke that ever was."
"Will be? What do you mean by will be?"
"Why, the whole thing will be. As for that dinner, if it's carried out on the lines which you laid down--and it sha'n't be our fault if it isn't--it will not only be the talk of London, but it will be a joke which we shall none of us forget as long as we live."
"Let us understand each other, Gardiner. I am not quite well to-day."
"You're not looking well."
"I'm not feeling well." There was something in his manner I resented. I desired that the tone of my reply should bring that home to him. "Something I had at your rooms last night has disagreed with me."
"Perhaps it was the oyster sauce."
This was Finlayson.
"I am not prepared to say exactly what it was."