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"Don't know," answered his friend, "but it smells like eggs and bacon, and steak and mushrooms, and chops and kidneys on toast. I hope so, at any rate, for I'm hungry this morning, and feel quite ready for a snack." "Snack!" laughed Frobisher. "Is what you have just mentioned your idea of a snack? It sounds to me more like the menu of an aldermanic banquet.
All he really needs to do is to study the menu, but of course a menu is more thoroughly studied by eating some of it. One soon finds that a menu may be a little modest every-day magna charta of democracy or it may not.
Inside we finds a collection of little white tables with chairs to match, a showcase full of arty jew'lry, and some shelves loaded with a job lot of odd-shaped vases and jugs and teapots and such truck. A tall, loppy female with mustard-colored hair and haughty manners tows us to a place in a dark corner and shoves a menu at us.
When he had drawn his money he would breakfast at a restaurant, he fixed upon Romanos', eggs and bacon and sausages, coffee and hot rolls would be the menu. Then he fell to wondering whether Romanos' would be open for breakfast, or whether it was of the type of restaurant that only serves luncheons and dinners. If it were, then he could breakfast at the Charing Cross Hotel.
Civilized bread and the sight of you will do me more good than boiled beans and camp bread. I hate to say it, but the Meeker menu runs largely to beef. Moreover, just seeing you would help my recovery." She became self-conscious at this, and he hastened to add: "Not that I'm really sick. Mrs. Meeker, like yourself, persists in treating me as if I were.
Besides this luxury, we had beautiful fresh tomatoes and young cabbages. The meat had resolved itself into beef, and beef only, but eggs helped out the menu, and the only non-existent delicacy was "fresh butter." This commodity existed in tins, but I must confess the sultry weather had anticipated the kitchen, in that it usually appeared in a melted state.
But Sir William Jones in the latter part of the last century, a man of immense erudition and genius for the acquisition of languages, at that time an English judge in India, prepared the way for the study of Sanskrit, the literary language of ancient India, by the translation and publication of the laws of Menu.
The menu of the Chinese with its ducks' eggs salted, sharks' fins and tails, stewed pups, fowls' and ducks' tongues, fricasseed cat, rat soup, silkworm grubs, and odds and ends generally despised and rejected is pitifully unromantic when set against the generous omnivority of Australian blacks.
He could hear the band, above the whirr of conversation, playing something he knew. He was glancing down the menu card, and the waiter was at his side. A soup that was succulent, thick and hot his mouth watered! Whitebait, perhaps. He saw their round little eyes and stiff tails as he squeezed his slice of lemon over them. He felt the wafer-slice of brown bread and butter in his fingers.
He had approached so stealthily, with such wild cunning, that the dogs had given no alarm, and had taken the gun to insure against miscarriage or interruption in his horrible menu of death. A brief tangle of locked arms, swaying bodies, ribs all but crushed in the embrace of those bestial arms, and Mackenzie was conscious that he was fighting the battle alone.
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