The Boy Broker Part 29

"I was way off, Bob. I thought it was some words jest made up for this bill, 'cause you see I don't know nothin' about French."

The waiter now reappeared, bringing with him two long rolls of French bread, a supply of b.u.t.ter, and three gla.s.ses of ice water.

Presently the soup was brought on.

"Sail right in now, Herbert, you and Tom," said Bob. "The next course will be right along."

Tom took a few drops, timidly, then a larger portion--less timidly--and now he put on a full head of steam and worked the spoon like a trip hammer.

When his plate was empty he said: "I think I struck it right, Bob; I knew I hit the best name."

"Why, was yours good, Tom?" replied Bob.

"I should think it was, Bob. It was way up, that's what it was. You see 'tain't always, Bob, that a feller can pick a winner the first time."

"Now you're givin' us some more of your horse racin' expressions, Tom.

Can't you never let 'em alone, 'specially at a tony dinner like this is?" said Bob.

"Well, I didn't think about that, Bob. I didn't mean to do nothin'

wrong. But you see, Bob, I didn't know of no other way to get at it.

This orderin' stuff by these blamed words is takin' chances--what I call bigger chances than bettin' on a horse race."

Young Randolph and Bob laughed heartily at Tom's remarks.

The next course was now put on the table. It came in a large platter.

Three plates were placed before Bob, and he served the fish and potatoes in a very creditable manner.

"Now comes the _entrees_," said Bob.

"What are them things, Bob?" said Tom, while ravenously devouring the portion before him.

"Well, I was jest goin' to give 'em to you when you busted in on me,"

replied Bob. "Here they are:

"_Fillet pique._

"_Fricandeau de Veau._

"_Pates aux huitres._"

"Can't a fellow get more'n one go at 'em, Bob?" said Tom, comically.

"That's all, only one go, Tom; which will you have?"

"I'll take the first one, Bob."

"The _fillet pique_?"

"Yes, if that's the first one."

"Well, 'tis; but, Tom, you're way off. You didn't pick no winner this time, as you say, for that dish ain't no good."

"Where did you get on to them blamed names, Bob? You're slingin' jest as much style here, too, as you did in the detective business."

"Well, why wouldn't I know 'bout 'em, Tom? Didn't I work in one of these places for a good while, and didn't I pay some attention to the way things was done?"

"So you did, Bob; I didn't think about that."

"I, too, have been surprised, Bob, to see how familiar you seemed with the various dishes," said Herbert.

"Well, that's how it come. You see I picked it up."

"But you are as much at ease serving the dinner as I am at eating it."

"How much?" said Bob, feeling in his pocket for loose change.

"What do you mean?" asked Herbert, seriously.

Bob smiled, and Tom burst into a characteristic laugh. It was the first time since the dinner commenced that he had seen the funny side of anything. Tom Flannery was not given to looking upon the comical side.

He was too credulous for that; but when anything did strike him as funny, and he made up his mind to treat it as such, the outburst of laughter that followed--laughter that was rich and childlike--was something to do one good.

Now, there was nothing especially bright or funny about Bob's remark that should have caused Tom to become so hilarious. In fact, it was more Herbert's serious manner, than what Bob said, that set him off.

"'Twas an old chestnut, any way, Bob," as Tom said the next day; "but Herbert looked so honest about it, jest as if you wasn't talkin' jokes, that it jest made me lay myself out and shout. I couldn't er stopped, Bob, ef it had killed me."

When the laughter had subsided, Bob explained his joke to Herbert, and then said:

"You have not told me what you will have. Here comes the waiter for our orders."

"You order 'em, Bob," said Tom. "You know what's good."

"That is a good suggestion, Tom, and meets with my approval," remarked Herbert.

Bob accordingly ordered for all three, and his selection gave excellent satisfaction to his guests.

The next course was simply maccaroni, cooked in the Italian style, with tomato dressing.

"This is bang up, Bob," said Tom Flannery, smacking his lips. "Them Eyetalians are some good after all, ain't they?"

Roast duck followed the maccaroni, with jelly, and fine cut celery with dressing.

Then came ice cream, followed by cheese--_fromage de Brie_.

"Bob, there's somethin' wrong about this," said Tom, seriously, referring to the last course. "Jest get on to that piece, will you?" and Tom pa.s.sed his portion to Bob.

"Don't be a fool, now, Tom Flannery," said Bob, with a.s.sumed displeasure, while he struggled hard to keep from giggling.

"Well, I ain't no fool, Bob; I guess I know when I know a thing," said Tom, indignantly. "I tell you that piece is all spoilt," and, to make sure of his statement, he took it in his fingers, and without regard to good manners placed it close to his nose, and gave it a genuine test.