“Now, Rosie, didn’t I tell you not to point at things with your fingers?” Harry admonished in a penetrating lower tone.
“Well, a fork wasn’t handy; the man ain’t set the table yet,” Jerry responded.
“Let us order,” interposed Steve in a suave, glossing-it-over tone, as the waiter thrust the menu before them.
“Just rustle us the best tea on the premises, young feller,” said Harry to the waiter, with a wave of the hand. “With all the fixin’s; see?”
Jerry interposed once more. “Say, Bill, I want a merring glass. Does that come with the tea?”
“A meringue glacé,” said Steve smoothly to the by now distracted waiter.
“What kind does madame prefer?”
“Kind?” Jerry looked bewildered. “Is there different kinds? Can’t I just have a plain merring glass?”
“A vanilla one, perhaps,” said Steve with a reassuring smile directed first at her and then at the waiter. Then, as the waiter fluttered away, leaving several around pouring water and adjusting the table, and others poised near by with their ears cocked, Steve leaned across the table, and addressed Harry in a loud, confidential tone:
“Rather a pleasant idea of yours, Mr.—er—Billings, to combine business with afternoon tea.”