You Should Worry Says John Henry Part 4

In the lobby the furniture was covered with men about town, who sat around with a checkbook in each hand and made faces at the cash register.

There are more bellboys than bedrooms in the hotel. They use them for change. Every time you give the cas.h.i.+er $15 he hands you back $1.50 and six bellboys.

We took a peep at the diamond-backed dining-room, and when I saw the waiters refusing everything but certified checks in the way of a tip, I said to Peaches, "This is no place for us!" But she wouldn't let go, and we filed into the appet.i.te killery.

A very polite lieutenant waiter, with a sergeant waiter and two corporal waiters, greeted us and we gave the countersign, "Abandon health, all ye who enter here."

Then the lieutenant waiter and his army corps deployed by columns of four and escorted us to the most expensive looking trough I ever saw in a dining-room.

"Peaches," I said to friend wife, "I'm doing this to please you, but after I pay the check it's me to file a pet.i.tion in bankruptcy."

She just grinned, picked up the point-lace napkin and began to admire the onyx furniture.

"_Que souhaitez vous?_" said the waiter, bowing so low that I could feel a chill running through my little bank account.

"I guess he means you," I whispered to Peaches, but she looked very solemnly at the menu card and began to bite her lips.

"_Je suis tout a votre service,_" the waiter cross-countered before I could recover, and he had me gasping. It never struck me that I had to take a course in French before entering the Builtfast hunger foundry, and there I sat making funny faces at the tablecloth, while friend wife blushed crimson and the waiter kept on bowing like an animated jackknife.

"Say, Mike!" I ventured after a bit, "tip us off to a quiet bunch of eating that will fit a couple of appet.i.tes just out seeing the sights.

Nothing that will put a kink in a year's income, you know, Bo; just suggest some little thing that looks better than it tastes, but is not too expensive to keep down."

"_Oui, oui!_" His Ma.r.s.eillaise came back at me, "_un diner comfortable doit se composer de potage, de volaille bouillie ou rotie, chaude ou froide, de gibier, de plats rares et distingues, de poissons, de sucreries, de patisseries et de fruits!_"

I looked at my wife, she looked at me, then we both looked out the window and wished we had never been born.

"Say, Garsong," I said, after we came to, "my wife is a daughter of the American Revolution and she's so patriotic she eats only in United States, so cut out the Moulin Rouge lyrics and let's get down to cases.

How much will it set me back if I order a plain steak--just enough to flirt with two very polite appet.i.tes?"

"Nine dollars and seventy cents," said Joan of Arc's brother Bill; "the seventy cents is for the steak and the nine dollars will help some to pay for the Looey the Fifteenth furniture in the bridal chamber."

"Save the money, John," whispered Peaches, "and we'll buy a pianola with it."

"How about a sliver of roast beef with some simple vegetable," I said to the waiter. "Is it a bull market for an order like that?"

"Three dollars and forty-two cents," answered Henri of Navarre; "forty-two cents for the order and three dollars to help pay for the French velvet curtains in the golden suite on the second floor."

"Keep on guessing, John; you'll wear him out," Peaches whispered.

"Possibly a little cold lamb with a suggestion of potato salad on the side might satisfy us," I said; "make me an estimate."

"Four dollars and eighteen cents," replied Patsey Boulanger; "eighteen cents for the lamb and salad and the four dollars for the Looey the Fifteenth draperies in the drawing-room."

"Ask him if there's a bargain counter anywhere in the dining-room,"

whispered Peaches.

"My dear," I said to friend wife, "we have already displaced about sixty dollars' worth of s.p.a.ce in this dyspepsia emporium, and we must, therefore, behave like gentlemen and order something, no matter what the cost. What are the savings of a lifetime compared with our honor!"

The waiter bowed so low that his shoulder blades cracked like a whip.

"Bring us," I said, "a plain omelet and one dish of prunes."

I waited till Peter Girofla translated this into French and then I added, "And on the side, please, two gla.s.ses of water and three toothpicks. Have the prunes frica.s.seed, wash the water on both corners, and bring the toothpicks rare."

The waiter rushed away and all around us we could hear money talking to itself.

Fair women sat at the tables picking dishes out of the bill of fare which brought the blush of sorrow to the faces of their escorts. It was a wonderful sight, especially for those who have a nervous chill every time the gas bill comes in.

When we ate our modest little dinner the waiter presented a check which called for three dollars and thirty-three cents.

"The thirty-three cents is for what you ordered," Alexander J. Dumas explained, "and the three dollars is for the French hangings in the parlor."

"Holy Smoke!" I cried; "that fellow Looey the Fifteenth has been doing a lot of work around here, hasn't he?" But the waiter was so busy watching the finish of the change he handed me that he didn't crack a smile.

Then I got reckless and handed him a fifty-cent tip.

The waiter looked at the fifty cents and turned pale.

Then he looked at me and turned paler.

He tried to thank me, but he caught another flash of that plebeian fifty and it choked him.

Then he took a long look at the half-dollar and with a low moan he pa.s.sed away.

In the excitement I grabbed Peaches and we flew for home.

The next time I go to one of those expensive shacks it will be just after I've had a hearty dinner.

Even at that I may change my mind and go to a moving picture show.

CHAPTER IV

YOU SHOULD WORRY ABOUT GETTING A GOAT

Hep Hardy's goat belongs to the chamois branch of that famous family.

When it gets out it wants to leap from crag to crag.

Hep's chamois got loose recently and, believe me, I never saw a goat perform to better advantage.

For a long time Hep has been in love with Clarissa Goober, the daughter of Pop Goober, who made millions out of the Flower-pot Trust. Of late, however, Hep's course of true love has been running for Sweeney, and my old pal has been staring at the furniture and conversing with himself a great deal.

[Ill.u.s.tration]