Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spine
too.

"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to find
you some sort of work?"

"Not at all," says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don't
mind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! I
wasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn't
appeal to me."

Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern,
"there's the door."

"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all
this,--the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and--say, Bob, if I
might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing
touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since--well, I've
forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!"

Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button.
Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful
to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler.

"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty
little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz."

"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those
gold-tipped Russians."