"Reinstatement. Come at once. Shall expect you this evening without fail." Having sent off the telegram, he presently ordered his dinner in the grill-room of a Ludgate Hill restaurant. "Yes, let's see your notion of a well-cooked rumpsteak. And I'll try some of the famous lager beer.... Oh, bottle or draught's all one to me;" and he snapped his fingers and laughed. "Now, sharp's the word, Mister waiter. I'm fairly famished." The lager beer, served in a glass vase, was delicious--sunbeams distilled to make a frothing and unheady nectar. The grilled steak and the fried potatoes could not have been better done at the Buckingham Palace kitchens. Never for three weeks had food tasted like this. All had been dust and ashes in his mouth since the row began. Then with appetite satisfied and digestion beginning, he smoked. "If you've anything in the shape of a really good threepenny cigar, I can do with it. But don't fob me off with any poor trash. For I've my pipe in my pocket." The waiter said he had a truly splendid threepenny; and Dale, enjoying it, talked to the waiter. He could not help talking; he could not help laughing. After so much silence it was a treat to hear the sound of his own loud, jolly voice, and he gave himself the treat freely. "You're from the country, sir," said the waiter, politely. "Yes, bull's eye," said Dale, with boisterous good-humor. "Hand him out a cokernut. But may I ask how you guessed my place of origin so pat?" "Well, sir. I don't know, sir. Haven't had you here before, I think." "Oh, you're very clever, you Londoners. I don't doubt you can all see through a brick wall. Yes, I'm from the country--but I'm beginning to know my way about the town too. Ever bin on a steamboat to Rodhaven?" "Rodhaven? No, sir." Then Dale told the waiter about the heaths and downs and woods that lie between Rodhaven and Old Manninglea. "Prettiest part of the world that I know of," he said proudly. "You spend your next holiday there. Take the four-horse sharrybank from Rodhaven pier--and when you get to the Roebuck at Rodchurch, you get off of the vehicle and ask for the Postmaster." "Yes, sir?" "He won't eat you," and Dale laughed with intense enjoyment of his humor. "He's not a bad chap really, though his neighbors say he's a bit of a Tartar. I give you my word he'll receive you, decently, and stand you dinner into the bargain. I know he will--and for why? Because I am that gentleman myself." He could not resist the pleasure of rounding off his sentence with the grand word "Gentleman," and he was gratified by the waiter's meekly obsequious reception of the word. "Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir." When leaving, he gave the waiter a generous tip.