Bundercombe
begged. "He persists in mistaking me for some one else. I am not
complaining, mind," he added affably; "no complaint whatever! I am quite
sure the young gentleman is genuinely mistaken and does not mean to be in
any way offensive. Only my digestion is not what it should be and these
little _contretemps_ in the middle of luncheon are disturbing. Run away,
sir, please!" he concluded, waving his hand toward me.
The _maitre d'hotel_ looked at me and I looked at the _maitre d'hotel_.
Then I glanced at Mr. Bundercombe, who remained quite unruffled. Finally I
bowed slightly toward the young lady and returned to my place.
"Well?" Mrs. Bundercombe snapped.
"It seems," I said, "that we were mistaken. That isn't Mr. Bundercombe at
all."
Mrs. Bundercombe's face was a study.
"Is this a jest?" she demanded severely.
"I wish it were," I replied. "Anyhow, Mrs. Bundercombe, you must really
excuse me, but there is nothing more I can do. The gentleman whom I
addressed insisted upon it that his name was Mr. Joseph H. Parker. No
doubt he was right. These likenesses are sometimes very deceptive," I
added feebly.
Mrs. Bundercombe rose to her feet. I made no effort to stop her; in fact
her action filled me with pleasurable anticipations.
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