I cough, adjust my cravat and attempt an introduction. “Good evening Sir, Captain Peabody Fawcett, Royal Navy retired, most pleased to make your acquaintance and you ….” The cove who was by now glowering over the top of his paper, positively bristled! “Limey eh?” he grunted “Huh. The timely arrival of the waiter clutching the menu broke the impasse.
My dining companion’s table manners leave a lot to be desired, but needs must and sporting napkins neatly tucked into our waist jackets we attack our buffalo steaks (known in this part of the world as bahgurs) with a renewed vigour. Superb!
With every mouthful the fellows demeanour seemed in someway to soften which was just as well because I’d earlier had visions of the blessed cove in the advanced stages of an apoplectic fit, floundering around the carriage gasping for air and requiring one to attempt some form of resuscitation. Fawcett.