And I'll try
some of the famous lager beer.... Oh, bottle or draught's all one to
me;" and he snapped his fingers and laughed. "Now, sharp's the word,
Mister waiter. I'm fairly famished."
The lager beer, served in a glass vase, was delicious--sunbeams
distilled to make a frothing and unheady nectar. The grilled steak and
the fried potatoes could not have been better done at the Buckingham
Palace kitchens. Never for three weeks had food tasted like this. All
had been dust and ashes in his mouth since the row began.
Then with appetite satisfied and digestion beginning, he smoked.
"If you've anything in the shape of a really good threepenny cigar, I
can do with it. But don't fob me off with any poor trash. For I've my
pipe in my pocket."
The waiter said he had a truly splendid threepenny; and Dale, enjoying
it, talked to the waiter. He could not help talking; he could not help
laughing. After so much silence it was a treat to hear the sound of
his own loud, jolly voice, and he gave himself the treat freely.
"You're from the country, sir," said the waiter, politely.
"Yes, bull's eye," said Dale, with boisterous good-humor. "Hand him
out a cokernut. But may I ask how you guessed my place of origin so
pat?"
"Well, sir.
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