Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern, "there's the door."
"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all this,—the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and—say, Bob, if I might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since—well, I've forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!"
Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler.
"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz."
"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those gold-tipped Russians."
"À vous!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. "I'm as thirsty as a camel driver."
"But what I'd like to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what you propose doing."
"You, my dear fellow," says Bunny, settin' down the glass.
"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to be disappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to the sidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good."
Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, you couldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you up tomorrow and make a nuisance of myself."