_BLOND, a fat, middle-aged French hotel-keeper, enters with a letter in his hand._ ISIDORE. Monsieur Blond. BLOND. Good evening, Mr. Farringdon. ISIDORE. [_Quietly to BLOND._] Ze bill is all right. CIS. Good evening. [_Introducing MR. POSKET._] My friend, Mr. Harvey Skinner, of the Stock Exchange. BLOND. Very pleased to see you. [_To CIS._] Are you going to enjoy yourselves? CIS. Rather. BLOND. You usually eat in this room, but you don't mind giving it up for to-night--now, do you? CIS. Oh, Achille! BLOND. Come, come, to please me. A cab has just brought a letter from an old customer of mine, a gentleman I haven't seen for over twenty years, who wants to sup with a friend in this room to-night. It's quite true. [_Giving CIS a letter._] CIS. [_Reading to himself._] "19A, Cork Street. Dear Blond,--Fresh, or rather, stale from India--want to sup with my friend, Captain Vale, to-night, at my old table in my old room. Must do this for Auld Lang Syne. Yours, Alexander Lukyn." [_To BLOND._] Oh, let him have it. Where will you put us? BLOND. You shall have the best room in the house, the one next to this. This room--pah! Come with me. [_To MR. POSKET._] Have you known Mr. Farringdon for a long time? MR. POSKET. No, no. Not very long. BLOND. Ah, he is a fine fellow--Mr. Farringdon. Now, if you please. You can go through this door. [_Wheels sofa away and unlocks the door._ CIS. [_To MR. POSKET._] You'll look better after a glass or two of Pommery, Guv. MR. POSKET. No, no, Cis--now, no champagne. CIS. No champagne, not for my friend, Harvey Skinner! Come, Guv--dig me in the ribs--like this. [_Digging him in the ribs._] Chuck! MR. POSKET. [_Shrinking._] Oh, don't! CIS. And say, Hey! Go on, Guv. MR. POSKET. I can't--I can't. I don't know what it may mean. CIS. [_Digging him in the ribs again._] Go on--ch-uck! MR. POSKET. What, like this? [_Returning the dig._] Ch-uck. CIS. That's it, that's it. Ha, ha! You are going it, Guv. MR. POSKET. Am I, Cis? Am I? [_Waving his arm._] Hey! CIS AND MR. POSKET. Hey! CIS. Ha, ha! Come on! Serve the supper, Achille. BLOND. Ah! he is a grand fellow, Mr. Farringdon. [_CIS and MR. POSKET go into the other room._] [_To ISIDORE._] Replace the _canapé._ [_There is a sharp knock at the other door. BLOND follows CIS and MR. POSKET into the other room, then locks the door on the inside._ ISIDORE. Come in, please. _COLONEL LUKYN and CAPTAIN VALE enter the room. LUKYN is a portly, grey-haired, good-looking military man; VALE is pale-faced and heavy-eyed, while his manner is languid and dejected._ LUKYN. This is the room. Come in, Vale. This is my old supper-room--I haven't set foot here for over twenty years. By George, I hope to sup here for another twenty. VALE. [_Dejectedly._] Do you? In less than that, unless I am lucky enough to fall in some foreign set-to, I shall be in Kensal Green. LUKYN.