Very different in his habits was a witty old gourmet who was always urging the steward to procure luxuries in and out of season. He was especially fond of pâté de foie gras, and made that official promise to get a fine one from Strasbourg. This, however, was a long time in making its appearance; and after waiting a week or so, the lover of good things became impatient at the delay. Taking the man to task, he reminded him that delays are dangerous, to which the steward replied that he heard pâtés were not good that year. “Nonsense,” was the rejoinder, “we will soon put that right. Depend upon it, it is only a false report that has been circulated by some geese.” The same member once had reason for much comical complaint in connection with a pâté which, in this case, had been sent him as a present by a noted connoisseur. Several members of the committee were invited to partake of the delicacy, and they were all agreed as to its peculiar excellence; as one of them facetiously said, it made one realize that the problem, “Is life worth living?” was, after all, merely “a question de foi(e).” A few days later, however, what was the surprise of the giver of the feast to receive a reprimand from the committee, calling his attention to the rule which forbade members to bring food into the club! “Ah,” said he, “if I had only told them I was expecting more pâtés, they would have left me alone; mine was too small, and probably they were annoyed at not having had a second go at it.” Though good-natured and hospitable, this lover of good living was very touchy upon certain gastronomic matters. He did not speak to a friend of his for years owing to the latter’s contention that carrots should always be put in a _navarin_—a statement which, the old gourmet declared, placed anyone making it outside the ranks of civilized man. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VI ELECTIONS—COMMITTEES—REGULATIONS—RULES The transformation of the West End of London has entailed the destruction of numbers of the old box-like Georgian houses, and when the demand for new clubs arose, the quaint little shops in Pall Mall and St. James’s Street—almost the last survival of which is Lock’s hat-shop—were gradually demolished, in order to make way for huge edifices of palatial appearance. New political clubs, new professional clubs, new social clubs, sprang into existence, till what was a luxury for the few became a comparative necessity for the many. In these days rich men often belong to a great number of clubs, and the present writer was told by a well-known cosmopolitan that his subscriptions of this kind amounted at one time to no less than £200 a year. This, however, included various racing and yachting clubs, as well as two or three on the Continent.