White smiled as the old college phrase dropped again from the lips of his classmate.
"Of course I mean it," he said; "honest. There's the bill of fare. Order what you please. And remember that it is Thanksgiving, and that I'm hungry, and that I want a good dinner."
"Very well, then," said Johnny, as he took the bill of fare. He was already warmer, and now he seemed to expand a little with the unwonted luxury of the occasion.
He looked over the bill of fare carefully.
"Blue Points on the half-shell, of course," he began, adding to the waiter, "be sure that they are on the deep shell. Green turtle soup—the green turtle here used to be very good fifteen years ago. Filet de sole, à la Mornay—the sole is flounder, I suppose, but à la Mornay a man could eat a Hebrew manuscript. Then a canvas-back apiece—two canvas-back, you understand, real canvas-back, not red-head or mallard—with samp, of course, and a mayonnaise of celery. Then a bit of Chedder cheese and a cup of coffee. How will that suit you, White?"
"That will suit me," White responded. "And now what wine?"
"Wine, too?" Johnny queried.
White smiled and nodded.
"Well, I'll go you," the guest went on. "I might as well see the thing through, if you are bound to do it in style." He turned over the bill of fare and scanned the wine list on the under side. "Yquem '74 with the oysters; and they tell me there is a Silver Seal Special '84 brut that is better than anything one has tasted before. Give us a quart of that with the duck. And let us have it as soon as you can."
He handed the bill of fare to the waiter, and then, for the first time, he ventured to glance about the room.