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Lois would have none of the theory; the waitress was ready to die for it and carried it away with her intact. George preferred milk to cream, but he said nothing. "Yes," Lois went on. "You ought to come to Paris. You have been, haven't you? I remember you told me. We're supposed to go back next week, but if Irene doesn't go, I shan't." She frowned.
Craven had ordered the table in the window to be reserved for them. The restaurant was fairly, but not quite, full. The musicians were in their accustomed places looking very Italian. The lustrous padrona smiled a greeting to them from her counter. Their bright-eyed waitress hurried up and welcomed them in Italian. Vesuvius erupted at them from the walls.
And as the waitress went to bring his order, he again felt in his pocket to make sure he had the money with which to pay for his meal.
Conor would never change. Why wouldn't she leave him? She would when she was ready. He, Oliver, would be there. The waitress swished away. Nice legs, he registered. Too young, though. You can't have them all, he told himself as she disappeared into the kitchen. When he got home, he ironed a blue oxford-cloth shirt and a pair of dress chinos.
A waitress, a red-haired, slovenly girl, with an impediment in her speech, took her order and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and Miss Donovan discreetly lifted her eyes to observe the man sitting nearly opposite. He was not prepossessing, yet she instantly recognised his type, and the probability that he would address her if the slightest opportunity occurred.
Fresh pears, plums, peaches, apricots, nectarines, mandarins and apples are all served in the same manner on a plate about six inches across, with a silver fruit knife for quartering and peeling. If a waitress serves, fruit knife and plate are placed first, and then the dish containing the fruit is passed. Strawberries are sometimes left unhulled, when of "exhibition" size.
"Ask Miss Vanrenen to give you another cup for Count Marigny's chauffeur," said Medenham to the girl. "Oh, he's a count, is he?" said the waitress saucily. "My, isn't he mashed on the young one?" "Who wouldn't be?" declared Smith. "She's the sort of girl a fellow 'ud leave home for." "Fine feathers go a long way.
He smiled at her with semi-toothless fondness. "Give me my coffee, little girl. I'm famished. Isn't this jolly just you and me?" Geraldine poured the coffee and handed him the cup; then she spoke impressively. "Mr. Carder, this is the last time this must happen. I refuse to sit down and make a waitress of your old mother.
"This is a bad job," said William; "we must give up the play." "Stop a bit," said John; "I know a trick worth two of that," and called the waitress. "Betty," said he, "we've dropped two guineas. See if you can find them." Betty went down on her hands and knees, and found the one guinea, which had rolled under the fender.
At eight-thirty he indignantly walked away, but he hastily returned, and stood there another half-hour. She did not come. When he finally fled home he was glad to have escaped the great mystery of life, then distressingly angry at the waitress, and desolate in the desert stillness of his room.
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