‘Do you know,’ Mr Slimm responded dryly, ‘I have seen the time when I never smoked before breakfast. I don’t allude to any great outbreak of virtue on my part; but the fact is, when a man can’t get a breakfast, he can’t be accused of smoking before it—no, sir.’ Having administered this crushing piece of logic with characteristic force, Mr Slimm rang the bell and proceeded to order ‘the fixings,’ which was his term for the matutinal repast.
‘You Britishers have got some sound notions on the subject of dinners and promiscuous refreshment; but your imagination don’t soar to breakfast. There’s nothing substantial about it,’ said Mr Slimm, after finishing a pound or so of steak. ‘The Francatelli who rules the kitchen here is fairly good; and I flatter myself if I stay here much longer he will know what a breakfast is. I stayed for a week at a little place off the Strand once; but I was almost starved. Ham and eggs, chops and steaks, was the programme, with a sole, by way of a treat, on Sundays.’
‘Very sad,’ replied Edgar, with considerable gravity. ‘You must have suffered. You don’t seem, however, particularly short here.’
‘Well, no,’ Mr Slimm admitted, at the same time helping himself to fish; ‘I can manage here.’
‘I hope last night’s little scrimmage has not injured your appetite this morning?’ Edgar asked politely.
‘Not much. Æneas Slimm generally can pick up his crumbs tolerably. This little village is a fine place to sharpen the appetite.’
‘How long do you propose to stay here?’
‘I don’t know; it all depends. I am doing London, you see, and when I do a place, I do it well. You’ve got some fine old landmarks here—very fine,’ said Mr Slimm with proverbial American reverence for the antique. ‘I guess we should be proud of the Tower over to New York—yes, sir.’
‘I have never been over it,’ Edgar said carelessly.
‘Do, tell. Man, I guess you’re funning. Seems to me kind o’ incredible for an Englishman to live in London and not see the Tower.’