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Updated: May 8, 2025
"Gentlemen, we have paid our mess-money, and we have nothing to eat. We have asked for the accounts, and we are put off with `indisposition. Now, gentlemen, as there can be no doubt of the caterer's honour, I propose that we give him a receipt in full." "And here's a pen to write it with," cried out another, holding up the sleeve-board, with which they had been playing the game.
We were sitting in the front basement room, a pleasant enough place, evidently a servants' sitting room. Before Mrs. Reeves, on the table, were the remnants of her scarce tasted breakfast. As she had said, the tiny sandwiches and rich salad, which she had procured from the unused stores of the caterer's provision, did seem too closely connected with the tragedy to be appetizing.
"There's nothing been done about it yet," answered the officer who relieved him. "The steward went to several of the members of the mess, and asked what they wished served up; but they told him that they had nothing to do with the caterer's business, and the consequence is, if you want any thing to eat, you will have to go into the pantry and help yourself."
The caterer's wagons had arrived with their dainty contents, and had gone, and now the Hungarian band was sending forth over the cool night air those beautiful and weird waves of melody which entrance the most unwilling ear.
"There aren't any, sir," he replied, looking shudderingly at the grisly form on the floor. "No servants? In a house of this type! What do you mean?" "That's true," said Mrs. Reeves, breaking her silence, at last. "Miss Van Allen has a very capable woman, who is housekeeper and ladies' maid in one. But when guests are here, the suppers are served from the caterer's." "Then call the housekeeper.
Then I saw that it was brilliantly lighted, and gave evidence here and there of some festivity; but the guests were too few for the effect to be very exhilarating, and, passing around to the rear, I sought the special entrance to which I had been directed. A heavy-browed porch, before which stood a caterer's wagon, led me to a door which had every appearance of being the one I sought.
Then I saw that it was brilliantly lighted and gave evidence here and there of some festivity; but the guests were too few for the effect to be very exhilarating and, passing around to the rear, I sought the special entrance to which I had been directed. A heavy-browed porch, before which stood a caterer's wagon, led me to a door which had every appearance of being the one I sought.
In the absence of Frescobaldi's fellow-conspirator he restored himself in the caterer's esteem by adding whatever he suggested; and Fulkerson, after trembling for the old man's niggardliness, was now afraid of a fantastic profusion in the feast.
This was different. He was profoundly depressed. He wandered out of the crowd and, after colliding with a man from the caterer's in a dark rear hall, found his way up the servant's staircase to the small back room where he kept the lares and penates of his quiet life, his pipe, his fishing rods, a shabby old smoking coat, and back files of magazines which he intended some day to read, when he got round to it.
Who you, anyway? Damn caterer's man?" "I'm Westover, Lynde," the painter began, but the young fellow broke in upon him, shaking his hand and then taking his arm. "Oh, Westover! All right! I'll go down back way with you. Thought thought it was damn caterer's man. No offence." "No. It's all right."
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