MISS MATFIELD'S NJEW YEAR 419

"Well, suppose I do, too/' said Miss Matfield, as St.
Paul's went jogging past the window on her side of the
cab. "What about that?"

"I'll promise you one, though, if you ask me, it's a
waste of beautiful stuff, because I'm sure you can't
appreciate it. But you won't get any more out of me. If
you did, you'd turn round afterwards and tell me I made
you drunk. No, no/'

"Don't be absurd. I was only joking. I don't like
brandy, as a matter of fact; the taste of it always re-
minds me of being ill. I loathe whisky, too. I like wine,
though, you'll perhaps be glad to know. You will also
be glad to know that I can drink quite a lot of it—if it's
good—without feeling tight."

"All right. Now I know. The sooner he gets there
now, the better it will be. I'm getting hungrier and
hungrier."

"So am I. If I'd gone back to the Club, I'd never
have been able to find enough to satisfy my appetite to-
night. The food's not really too bad there, but it isn't
quite real—if you know what I mean. It's like the food
you get in cheap hotels."

"I know," said Mr. Golspie grimly. "You can't tell
me anything about cheap hotels and bad grub. And
when you say it's not real, you mean it all tastes alike
and never quite leaves you satisfied. Nothing like that
about Mr. Bundle. And here he is."

Mr. Bundle, whoever he was, had remembered one
simple fact when he first established his tradition of
catering, and that was that Man is one of the largest
carnwora. You went to Bundle's to eat meat The
kitchen turned out acceptable soups, vegetables, pud-
dings, tarts, savouries, and the like, but all these were