Station. Placing the host carefully in the middle, the three sat
down at the curving marble slab. The waiters immediately sensed that
something unusual was toward. Two dashed up with courteous
attentions. It was surmised by the club that the trio had happened
to sit at a spot where the jurisdictions of two waiters met. Both
the wings of the trio waved the waiters toward the blushing novice,
making it plain that upon him lay all responsibility. "It is
obvious," remarked the secretary, "that you, Lawton, are right on
the boundary line where two waiters meet. You will have to tip them
both."
The new member was game. "Well," he said, without a trace of
nervousness; "what'll you have?" The choice fell upon breast of
lamb. The secretary asked for iced tea. Endymion, more ruthless,
ordered ginger ale. When the ginger ale came, Lawton, still waggish,
observed the label, which was one of the many imitations of a
well-known brand. "The man who invented the diamond-shaped label,"
said Lawton, "was certainly a pathfinder in the wilderness of the
ginger ale business. This ginger ale," said Lawton, tasting it, "is
carefully warmed, like old claret."
The club sought to keep their host's mind off the painful topic of
viands. "Sitting here makes one feel as though he ought to be going
to take a train somewhere," said one. "Yes, the express for
Weehawken," said the vivacious host.
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