Waiter.  Quick?  Yes, I dell zem. [He hurries off.

The E.A. Hang the fellow, he’s forgotten the wine! (To Guest.) What will you drink?

The Guest (thinks it will look greedy if he suggests champagne).  Oh—­er—­whatever you’re going to drink.

The E.A. Well, I’m going to have a glass of champagne myself.  I want it after all this worry.  But if you prefer beer (considerately), say so. (The Guest, in a spirit of propitiation, prefers beer.) Well, we could have managed a bottle of Pommery between us, and it’s never so good to my mind in the pints—­but please yourself, of course. [The Guest feels that his moderation has missed fire, but dares not retract; they sit in silence for some time, without anything of importance happening, except that a strange Waiter swoops down and carries away their bread-basket.

A Meek Man (at an adjoining table, who, probably for family reasons, is entertaining his Sister-in-law, a lady with an aquiline nose and remarkably thick eyebrows.) You know, HORATIA, I call this sort of thing very jolly, having dinner like this in the fresh air, eh? [He rubs his hands under the table.

Horatia (acidly).  It may be so, AUGUSTUS, when we do have it.  At present we have been sitting here fifteen minutes, and had nothing but fresh air and small flies, and, as I don’t pretend to be a Chameleon myself, why—­ [She fans herself vigorously.

Augustus.  Well, you know, my dear, we were warned that the trout en papillotes might take some little time.  I suppose (with mild Jocularity)—­it’s a fashionable fish—­wants to come in with a “little head sunning over with curls,” as the poet says.

Horatia.  Please don’t make jokes of that sort—­unless you wish to destroy the little appetite I have left!

Augustus (penitently).  Never mind—­I won’t do it again.  Here ’s our Waiter at last. Now we’re all right! [The Waiter puts a dish down upon another table, and advances with the air of a family friend who brings bad tidings.

Horatia.  Will you kindly let us have that trout at once?

The Waiter (bending down to AUGUSTUS with pity and sympathy).  Fery sory to dell you, esbecially after keebin you so long vaiting, bot (thinks how he can break it most gently) ve haf zo many beople hier to-day, and zey haf shust dold me in ze gitchen zere is no more drout.  Zis hote vedder ze drout, he vill nod stay!

Augustus (mildly).  No, of course not—­well, let me see, now, what can you—?

The E.A. Here, you Kellner, come here, can’t you?  What the—­

Waiter (to AUGUSTUS).  Von minute.  I gom back bresently. (To E.A.) You vant your pill, Sir, yes?