This way.

I'm no hand for clubs--they bore me; they are newfangled." The old man conducted him into a basement restaurant not noticeable for cleanliness, but strong with a smell of mutton.
"Now, suppose we try a little broth," said the old man, when they had sat down.

"Two bowls of mutton broth," he added, speaking to the waiter.

"Ah," he went on, "you may talk about your dishes, but at noontime there is nothing that can touch broth.

And besides," he added, in a whisper, "there's no robbery in broth.