"Breakfast!" I exclaimed.
"Breakfast," said Rupert, firmly. "If you don't know what it is, I can
teach you in half a minute. You play it with a pot of coffee, a knife
and fork, and about a hundred-weight of scrambled eggs. Try it. It's a
pastime that grows on you."
I was surprised when Ralph Bingham supported the suggestion. He was so
near holing out that I should have supposed that nothing would have
kept him from finishing the match. But he agreed heartily.
"Breakfast," he said, "is an excellent idea. You go along in. I'll
follow in a moment. I want to buy a paper."
We went into the hotel, and a few minutes later he joined us. Now that
we were actually at the table, I confess that the idea of breakfast was
by no means repugnant to me. The keen air and the exercise had given me
an appetite, and it was some little time before I was able to assure
the waiter definitely that he could cease bringing orders of scrambled
eggs. The others having finished also, I suggested a move. I was
anxious to get the match over and be free to go home.
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