"It couldn't have been the wine," Gardiner declared. "I was careful to see that every bottle was of the best."
"It might have been the olives," murmured Finlayson. "You never know."
"I repeat that I am not able to precisely locate the blame, but it certainly was something. I therefore beg you to understand that I am not in a condition to argue. So that when I ask you to forget, as I have done, what seems to have been a very poor jest, and when I tear this sheet of nonsense into shreds, as I now proceed to do--"
"Short!" Gardiner caught me by the wrist. "What are you up to? I had a clean copy made of that, and it's gone to the printer's. I felt that the original ought to be preserved."
"Gone to the printer's! Gardiner, what are you saying?"
"We left it at the printer's on the way to engage the room for the dinner."
"Engage the room for the dinner! Gardiner, are you in earnest?"
"Certainly, at the Coliseum Restaurant. We've settled the preliminaries. It's to be on Friday week, the fifth Friday of the month, the unluckiest day of all, in accordance with your suggestion."
"Is it possible that you seriously suppose that I could allow myself to become associated with such a--such a travesty as this?"
I held up the sheet of paper.