The major-domo did answer. Before long the two warriors were slaking their mighty thirst with real beer. Eustace might be slow to learn, but he seldom forgot a lesson.
"Ah!" said Bill, smacking his lips. "Now, I begin to feel something like. What's the next move? Farr 'ere seems to 'ave something on his mind. What's up with you? Speak up."
Mustapha, with another obeisance, spoke up.
"If my lord permits, thy slaves await thee that they may bathe thee and change thy traveling-dress for a garment better befitting thy state. After this there is prepared for thee a banquet."
"Civvy clothes? That's a bright idea o' yours," replied Bill condescendingly. "Of course we can't go on wearing these 'ere things. We'll 'ave another drink—a long 'un, Farr, an' a strong 'un—an' then you can do what you like."
"While I think of it," said Alf, "p'raps I'd better take the Button off me tunic; then it can't get lost."
He suited the action to the word, and threaded the talisman on to the cord which hung round his neck and supported his two identity disks.
The drink was brought. This time it was not beer, but some far more potent liquid. Its immediate effect on Bill was to stimulate his imagination.
"What's your name goin' to be, Alf?" he asked suddenly after the first draught. "I'm goin' to be Mr. Montmorency."
"Why?"