"I for one," he said, "am delighted to be in such interesting society."
"You hear that!" cried Pitman triumphantly. "Go away, manager. No, stop a minute; have a drink?"
The manager shook his head. "Thank you very much, sir; but I'm afraid it would be against my rules. Of course, if the other guests don't object to the bird I have nothing further to say." He shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
I shall never forget that dinner. Under the influence of a third bottle of champagne Pitman became magnificent. His brilliant conversation was distributed impartially between me and the turkey and the people at the neighbouring tables, all of whom were intensely sympathetic. It would be useless to attempt to describe it, and to tell the truth, I myself have a very imperfect idea as to what actually occurred. I distinctly remember, however, that about nine o'clock I suggested the Hippodrome.
At first Pitman was obstinate. He declared that it was not a nice place to take the turkey to, but after a good deal of persuasion I managed to overcome his scruples, and amidst a chorus of good wishes we left the restaurant.
By the aid of a taxi we arrived at the Hippodrome without difficulty. I took the turkey, and sent Pitman to buy the tickets. He returned just as I was trying to smuggle the bird into the cloak-room.
"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded indignantly. "I've got a stall for him."
"A stall!" I echoed.
"Yes, a stall. Don't be selfish."
I gave it up, and followed him meekly into the hall.