Name change.
He certainly tolerated me. “Harry!” he called out to me, one night at Delmonico’s. “Join me in my magnificent repast!” The invitation was welcome, if not the inviter — but when I looked down at his table, I started to wonder about that, as well. Georgie’s plate looked… rather sparse. He was a man who would think nothing of two lobsters at supper, then follow them with a bucket of oysters, but tonight he was contenting himself with a mere soup and salad.
Georgie caught my look, and oinked laughter. “You look like my waiter did! Alphonse had to take my order three times before he would believe it. Sit anyway! I’m sure you can find something more to your liking on the menu.”
“My sincere apologies, Georgie,” I said (a touch insincerely) as I sat down. “Are you feeling quite well? If so, I hope it’s nothing too dire.” That, I meant. If there was any harm or meanness in Georgie, it was busily drowning in his flesh.
“On the contrary, Harry! I feel better than I have in some time.” Georgie gave his peculiar laugh again. “This new Method I am on is quite the thing. I only wish I had sought it out earlier.”