"Oh, really, no—by no means—I assure you I'd a capital breakfast—"
"Clem!"
Clem placed a chair, into which Mr. Price dropped without loss of time, though protesting with polished vehemence against the imposition.
His eyes shone, nevertheless, as Clem set a cup of coffee at his elbow and brought a plate.
"May I ask when you arrived?" I questioned.
"Only last evening."
"Then you dined at the City Hotel?"
"Major Blake, I will be honest with you—I did!"
"Clem, another omelette, quick—but first fetch some oranges, then put on a lot more of that Virginia ham and mix up some waffles, too. Hurry along!"
"Really, you are very good, Major."
"Not that," I answered modestly; "I've merely eaten at the City Hotel." But I doubt if he heard, for he lovingly inhaled the aroma of his coffee with half-shut eyes.
"I am delighted to have met you," he said. "If ever you come to New York—" He tore himself from the omelette long enough to scribble the name of a club on the card by my plate.
"I rarely crave more than coffee and a roll in the morning," he continued, after the second omelette, the ham, the waffles, and more coffee had been consumed. "I fancy it's your bracing air."
I fancied it was only the City Hotel, but I did not revert to that.
