"Light a pipe and explain yourself," I said.
"I thought you would be in bed and asleep," he began. "You're
getting into vicious habits living alone. When an unmarried man
takes to breakfasting at nine o'clock it's a bad sign--shows he can't
sleep."
"Pitman," I said pathetically, "you have not come out half a mile on
a snowy morning to try and be funny. Out with it."
"Have you got any whisky?" he inquired.
"I thought there was some good reason. There it is behind you.
Aren't you allowed to have it at home?"
"Not before lunch, and quite right, too; but that isn't the real
reason why I came."
"Have a cigar?" I suggested.
"No," he replied. "I came to give you some information. You are
coming up to town with me by the four o'clock train."
"What are we going for?" I inquired.
"We are going to buy a turkey," he said quietly.
I looked at him in amazement. "Going to buy a turkey! Why, you can
get a much better one here."
He smiled. "Much better, but my wife thinks otherwise. You see, she
was brought up in London, and she is still under the impression that
you can get nothing fit to eat outside. She made up her mind long
ago to buy the Christmas turkey in town, and she was going up to-day
to choose one. However, this morning the infant suddenly developed a
pain in its tummy, and she decided she couldn't leave it. So I
volunteered, and was accepted."
"And you want an expert opinion?"
"Not at all. I know a turkey when I see one all right. I want your
society. We'll dine somewhere and do a music-hall and come back by
the last train."
"But I never heard such nonsense," I objected. "Trotting all round
London to buy a turkey! It's ridiculous."
"Naturally," said Pitman calmly, "or my wife wouldn't have suggested
it."
"I will think it over," I said.
Pitman took out his watch. "I shall call for you at three-thirty.
That will give you six hours to get ready."
"I dislike being hurried," I said irritably.
"We shall dine at the Piccadilly," he went on, "and I shall pay for
dinner."
"That settles it. If you had said so sooner we should have been
saved all this superfluous conversation."
Pitman got up slowly and walked towards the door.
"You will take particular notice," he observed, "that I said
_dinner_. There was no mention of drinks."
"I was hoping it was an oversight."
He shook his head. "I am fond of you, Victor, but I have a sense of
duty towards my family."
Then, as Mr. Hall Caine would say, he went out into the snow.
He turned up again at a quarter to four in a fur coat, with a large
basket in his hand.