_Culch._ Is that so? Then I will make a point of asking for it--if I want
raw beefsteak. [_Attempts to turn to_ Miss T.

_His N._ That's what _I_ did when I was at Venice. I sent for the Manager.
He came. I said to him. "Look here, I'm an Englishman. My name's BELLERBY.
(CULCHARD _bows in patient boredom._) I've heard of your Venetian tunny. I
wish to taste it. _Bring_ me some!"

_Culch._ (_crushingly_). A most excellent method of obtaining it, no doubt.
(_To_ Waiter.) _Numéro vingt-sept, demi bouteille de Chianti, et siphon!_

_His N._ You don't wait till I've _done_, Sir! I _didn't_ obtain it--not at
first. The man made excuses. I was prepared for _that_. I told him plainly,
"I know what _you_'re thinking--it's a cheap fish, and you fancy I'm
ordering it out of economy!"

_Culch._ (_raising his eyebrows for_ Miss T.'s _benefit_). Of course, he
naturally _would_ think so. And _that_ is how you got your tunny? I see.
[Mr. BELLERBY _stares at him suspiciously, and decides to suppress the
remainder of his tunny._

_Miss T._ This hotel seems to be thinning some. We've three ghosts right in
front of us this evening.

_Culch._ (_turning with effusion_). So we have! My friend is one, and he'll
be here presently, but I much prefer myself to see every seat occupied.
There is something so depressing about a vacant chair, don't you think?

_Miss T._ It's calculated to put one in mind of _Macbeth's_ little