“It’s my great pleasure in life,” he answered. “Besides, it keeps the cholera out.”
When he left her he was generally drunk, but he carried his liquor well. It made him hilarious, but not disagreeable.
One evening Walter, coming back earlier than usual, asked him to stay to dinner. A curious incident happened. They had their soup and their fish and then with the chicken a fresh green salad was handed to Kitty by the boy.
“Good God, you’re not going to eat that,” cried Waddington, as he saw Kitty take some.
“Yes, we have it every night.”
“My wife likes it,” said Walter.
The dish was handed to Waddington, but he shook his head.
“Thank you very much, but I’m not thinking of committing suicide just yet.”
Walter smiled grimly and helped himself. Waddington said nothing more, in fact he became strangely taciturn, and soon after dinner he left them.
It was true that they ate salad every night. Two days after their arrival the cook, with the unconcern of the Chinese, had sent it in and Kitty, without thinking, took some. Walter leaned forward quickly.
“You oughtn’t to eat that. The boy’s crazy to serve it.”
“Why not?” asked Kitty, looking at him full in the face.
