Punch, or The London Charivari | Page 9

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VOCES POPULI.
DILATORY DINNERS.
SCENE--_The Grounds of a certain Exhibition. On this particular evening, there has been a slight hitch in the culinary arrangements, and the relations between the Chef and the Waiters are apparently strained. Enter an Egotistic Amphitryon, followed by a meek and youthful Guest._
The Egotistic Amphitryon (_concluding an harangue_). Well, all _I_'ve got to say is I've been here half-an-hour--(_with a bitter sense of the anomaly of the situation_)--waiting about for _You!!_ (_They seat themselves at one of the little tables under the verandah._) Oh, you're going to sit that side, are you? It's all the same to me, except that there's a confounded draught here which--well, you're young, and these things don't affect you--or oughtn't to. (_They exchange sides._) We shall have to hurry our dinner now, if we mean to hear anything of the music. That was the reason I expressly told you seven sharp. Here, Waiter! (Waiter _presents a carte, and stands by with a proud humility._) Now, what are you going to have? (To Guest.) You don't mind? I hate to hear a man say he doesn't care what he eats--he ought to care, he must care. What do you say to this--"Potage Bisque d'écrivisses; Saumon Sauce Hollandaise; Brimborions de veau farcis à l'imprévu; Ducklings and green peas; New Potatoes; Salad"? Simple and, ah, satisfying. (To Waiter.) Let us have that as sharp as you can; do you hear?
[Illustration]
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 s?ry 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?
_The E.A._ (_exploding_). My bill! Confound it! I want something to eat first. When is that Bisque coming?
Waiter. Ach, peg your bardon, ve haf peen so pusy all day. Your Bisque vill pe retty diregly. I go to vetch him. [_He goes._
Horatia. Now we're farther off from getting any food than ever! I suppose you mean to do _something_, AUGUSTUS?
Augustus. Of course--certainly. I shall speak very strongly. (Bleating.) Waiter!
Horatia (_with scorn_). Do you imagine they will pay the least attention to a noise like a sixpenny toy? Lot them see you insist upon being obeyed.
Augustus. I am--I mean, I will--I am very much annoyed. (Fiercely.) Wa-ai-ter!
A Stern Waiter (appearing suddenly.) You vant somsing, Sir?
Augustus (_apologetically_). Yes; we should--er--like something to eat--anything--so long as you can bring it at once, if