Mr. Waddington mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.
"Burton," he said hoarsely, "I think it's coming on! I'm glad we are
going to the _Milan_. I wish we could go to a music-hall to-night.
That woman was attractive!"
Burton set his teeth.
"I can't help it," he muttered. "I can't help anything. Here goes for
a good time!"
He dismissed the taxi and entered the Milan, swaggering just a little.
They lunched together and neither showed their usual discrimination in
the selection of the meal. In place of the light wine which Mr.
Waddington generally chose, they had champagne. They drank Benedictine
with their coffee and smoked cigars instead of cigarettes. Their
conversation was a trifle jerky and Mr. Waddington kept on returning to
the subject of the Menatogen Company.
"You know, I've three beans left, Burton," he explained, towards the end
of the meal. "I don't know why I should keep them. They'd only last a
matter of seven months, anyway. I've got to go back sometime. Do you
think I could get in with you in the company?"
"We'll go and--Why, there is Mr. Bunsome!" Burton exclaimed. "Mr.
Bunsome!"
The company promoter was just passing their table. He turned around at
the sound of his name.
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