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170 THE ADVENTURES OF PHILIP
"Excuse me," lisps Rosebury, "but why didn't he take his
elderly friend with him—the dilapidated clerical gentleman who is
drinking claret so freely ? And also, why did he not remove your
avuncular orator ? Mr. Twysden, your interesting young neophyte
has provided us with an excellent specimen of the cheerful produce
of the Gascon grape."
" Well, then, now the old gentleman is gone, let us pass the
bottle and make a night of it. Hey, my Lord ?" cries Twysden.
"Philip, your claret is good! I say, do you remember some
Chateau Margaux I had, which Winton liked so ? It must be good
if he praised it, I can tell you. I imported it myself, and gave him
the address of the Bordeaux merchant ; and he said he had seldom
tasted any like it. Those were his very words. I must get you
fellows to come and taste it some day."
" Some day! What day ? Name it, generous Amphitryon!"
cries Rosebury.
"Some day at seven o'clock. With a plain quiet dinner—a
clear soup, a bit of fish, a couple of little entrées, and a nice little
roast. That's my kind of dinner. And we'll taste that claret,
young men. It is not a heavy wine. It is not a first-class wine.
I don't mean even to say it is a dear wine, but it has a bouquet
and a pureness. What, you will smoke, you fellows ?"
" We will do it, Mr. Twysden. Better do as the rest of us do.
Try one of these."
The little man accepts the proffered cigar from the young nobleman's
box, lights it, hems and hawks, and lapses into silence.
"I thought that would do for him," murmurs the facetious
Egham. " It is strong enough to blow his old head off, and I wish
it would. That cigar," he continues, " was given to my father by
the Duke of Medina Sidonia, who had it out of the Queen of Spain's
own box. She smokes a good deal, but naturally likes 'em mild.
I can give you a stronger one."
"Oh no. I daresay this is very fine. Thank you!" says
poor Talbot.
" Leave him alone, can't you !" says Philip. " Don't make a
fool of him before the young men, Egham."
Philip still looked very dismal in the midst of the festivity.
He was thinking of his differences with his absent parent.
We might all have been easily consoled, if the Doctor had taken
away with him the elderly companion whom he had introduced to
Phil's feast. He could not have been very welcome to our host,
for Phil scowled at his guest, and whispered, " Hang Hunt !" to
his neighbour.
"Hang Hunt"—the Reverend Tufton Hunt was his name—