" He was equally calm and uttered
no comment.
Soon he came back (having conferred, as we could see out of the wing
of our eye) with his boss. "What was it you ordered?" he said.
"Sausages," we replied, urbanely, "and some of the red wine."
"I don't remember having served you before," he said. "I can't give
you anything like that."
We saw that we must win his confidence and we thought rapidly. "It's
perfectly all right," we said. "Mr. Bennett" (we said, seizing the
first name that came into our head), "who comes here every day, told
me about it. You know Mr. Bennett; he works over on Forty-second
Street and comes here right along."
Again he departed, but returned anon with smiling visage. "If you're
a friend of Mr. Bennett's," he said, "it's all right. You know, we
have to be careful."
"Quite right," we said; "be wary." And we laid hand firmly on the
fine hemorrhage of the grape.
A little later in the adventure, when we were asked what dessert we
would have, we found stewed rhubarb on the menu, and very fine
stewed rhubarb it was; wherefore we say that our time was not
ill-spent and we shall keep the secret to ourself.
But we can't help feeling grateful to Mr. Bennett, whoever he is.
* * * * *
Occasionally (but not often) in the exciting plexus of our affairs
(conducted, as we try to persuade ourself, with so judicious a
jointure of caution and hilarity) we find it necessary to remain in
town for dinner.
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