And now I am going out to get some dinner; I shall be back
in half an hour."
The press and bustle of the day's work was over at the tavern to which
Gilbert bent his steps. Dinners and diners seemed to be done with for one
more day; and there were only a couple of drowsy-looking waiters folding
table-cloths and putting away cruet-stands and other paraphernalia in
long narrow closets cut in the papered walls, and invisible by day.
One of these functionaries grew brisk again, with a wan factitious
briskness, at sight of Gilbert, made haste to redecorate one of the
tables, and in bland insinuating tones suggested a dinner of six courses
or so, as likely to be agreeable to a lonely and belated diner; well
aware in the depths of his inner consciousness that the six courses would
be all more or less warmings-up of viands that had figured in the day's
bill of fare.
"Bring me a chop or a steak, and a pint of dry sherry," Gilbert said
wearily.
"Have a slice of turbot and lobster-sauce, sir--the turbot are uncommon
fine to-day; and a briled fowl and mushrooms. It will be ready in five
minutes."
"You may bring me the fowl, if you like: I won't wait for fish. I'm in a
hurry."
The attendant gave a faint sigh, and communicated the order for the fowl
and mushrooms through a speaking-tube.
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