“The kidneys!” In an ecstasy of delight, Coleman thumped the floor with the ferrule of his stick. “The kidneys! Tell me all about kidneys. This is of the first importance. This is really life. And I shall sit down at your table without asking permission of Buonarotti here, and in the teeth of Mercaptan, and without so much as thinking about this species of Gumbril, who might as well not be there at all. I shall sit down and——” “Talking of sitting,” said Gumbril, “I wish I could persuade you to order a pair of my patent pneumatic trousers. They will——” Coleman waved him away. “Not now, not now,” he said. “I shall sit down and listen to the physiologue talking about runions, while I myself actually eat them—_sautés_. _Sautés_, mark my words.” Laying his hat and stick on the floor beside him, he sat down at the end of the table, between Lypiatt and Shearwater. “Two believers,” he said, laying his hand for a moment on Lypiatt’s arm, “and three black-hearted unbelievers—confronted. Eh, Buonarotti? You and I are both _croyants et pratiquants_, as Mercaptan would say. I believe in one devil, father quasi-almighty, Samael and his wife, the Woman of Whoredom. Ha, ha!” He laughed his ferocious, artificial laugh. “Here’s an end to any civilized conversation,” Mr. Mercaptan complained, hissing on the _c_, labiating lingeringly on the _v_ of ‘civilized’ and giving the first two _i_’s their fullest value. The word, in his mouth, seemed to take on a special and a richer significance. Coleman ignored him. “Tell me, you physiologue,” he went on, “tell me about the physiology of the Archetypal Man. This is most important; Buonarotti shares my opinion about this, I know. Has the Archetypal Man a _boyau rectum_, as Mercaptan would say again, or not? Everything depends on this, as Voltaire realized ages ago. ‘His feet,’ as we know already on inspired authority, ‘were straight feet; and the sole of his feet were like the sole of a calf’s foot.’ But the viscera, you must tell us something about the viscera. Mustn’t he, Buonarotti? And where are my _rognons sautés_?” he shouted at the waiter. “You revolt me,” said Lypiatt.