"Try gimme a vasso of agwa con yellow." He pronounced the words with elaborate pains. "Make it a long one." A waiter eyed him tolerantly, but with no faintest sign of understanding. "Agwa con yellow agwa with ice. Ice! ICE!" the man repeated loudly. Still failing of a response, he shouted, "Don't you know what 'ice' is?" He wrapped his long, lean arms about himself and shivered. "Cold! Icie!
Nice fat little spy." "So I suspected." Mr. Branch's beverage appeared at this moment. With a flourish the waiter placed a small glass and a bottle of dark liquid before him. Branch stared at it, then rolled a fiercely smoldering eye upward. "What's that?" he inquired. O'Reilly read the label. "It's bitters," said he. "BITTERS! And I asked for 'yellow' a glass of agwa with yellow."