"Now we'll go and have another bottle of fizz," I remarked, as we turned away from the stall.
Pitman nodded his head. "The cold weather makes one frightfully thirsty, doesn't it?"
"Nearly as bad as the hot," I agreed.
"We must be careful not to have too much," said Pitman.
"Drinking," I observed, as I led the way into a cheerful-looking tavern, "is no longer a mere physical indulgence. By legislation we have turned it into an art."
"And the policemen are the critics," added Pitman.
I looked at him approvingly, and ordered another bottle of "Mumm."
All the better side of Pitman's nature steals out under the influence of champagne. As a rule, he is inclined to be taciturn and a trifle selfish. Touched by the garment of Bacchus, rare and unexpected qualities develop with amazing rapidity. In the present instance he became almost morbidly tender-hearted.
"We'll take a four-wheeler to the Piccadilly," he said, finishing his glass.
"Why not a taxi?" I inquired.