"Beg pardon, sir," said Smithfield, "the soup is served."
Crane reluctantly tore himself from the picture and sat down at table, and such is the materialism of our day that he was evidently immediately compensated.
"By Jove," he said, "what a capital purée!"
Even Tucker, who, under Mrs. Falkener's tuition, had intended to find the food uneatable, was obliged to confess its merits.
"I say," said Crane to Smithfield, "tell the cook, will you, that I never tasted such a soup—not out of Paris, or even in it."
"She probably never heard of Paris," put in Tucker.
Smithfield bowed.
"I will explain your meaning to her, sir," he said.
Dinner continued on the same high plane, ending with two perfect cups of coffee, which called forth such eulogies from Crane that Tucker said finally, as they left the dining-room:
"Upon my word, Burt, I never knew you cared so much about eating."