“London!” said Ignatius Gallaher. “It’s six of one and half-a-dozen of the other. You ask Hogan, my boy. I showed him a bit about London when he was over there. He’d open your eye.⁠ ⁠… I say, Tommy, don’t make punch of that whisky: liquor up.”

“No, really.⁠ ⁠…”

“O, come on, another one won’t do you any harm. What is it? The same again, I suppose?”

“Well⁠ ⁠… all right.”

“ François , the same again.⁠ ⁠… Will you smoke, Tommy?”

Ignatius Gallaher produced his cigar-case. The two friends lit their cigars and puffed at them in silence until their drinks were served.