"We make a specialty of special diets. In fact, our ordinary diet is a
special diet. Certainly, of course. We've got mulligatawny soup,
sardines, roast beef, trifle and gorgonzola cheese. Perhaps you'll have
a drink while you wait?"
"Certainly not, sir," replied the old gentleman testily. "You seem to
be unable to comprehend. My wife has a duodenal ulcer, sir. Had it for
fourteen years in September, and you talk to me of mulligatawny soup."
"I quite understand, of course, of course," replied Mr. Gunthorpe
urbanely. "Everything of a--an irritating character will be left out of
the--"
"Then it won't be mulligatawny soup, you fool!" exploded the old lady,
whose pressure I had seen rising for some time.
"Certainly not, madam. Of course, indubitably. We'll call it beef-tea,
and it will never know."
"What will never know?" asked the old gentleman, with an air of
puzzlement.
"Madam's duodenal ulcer, sir," replied the landlord, with a deferential
bow, dedicated, doubtless, to that organ.
Each separate hair in the old gentleman's beard began to curl and coil
with the electricity of exasperation, and at every moment I expected to
see sparks fly out from it.
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