No, sir; they came prepared for mischief. They meant to wreck the
Meeting, and had brought along bags of cayenne pepper, and pots of
chemicals to stink us out. They opened one--phew! And I have
another, captured from them, in the pocket of my greatcoat on the
rack, there. I'll show it to you by and by. Luckily our stewards
had wind, early in the afternoon, that some such game was afoot, and
had posted a body of bruisers conveniently, here and there, about the
hall. So in the end they were thrown out, one by one--yes, sir,
ignominiously. It don't add to one's respect for public life,
though.'
"At this point the wine made its appearance, and--if you'll believe
me--it was genuine: Perrier-Jouet, '96. A little while on the ice
might have improved it, but we gave it no time. The oysters arrived
too; but they were tired, I think. Something was wrong with them,
anyhow. . . . Then--as I seem to remember having told you--Farrell
put down three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach."
"You did mention it," said I; "somewhere in the dim and distant
past.
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