“I’ve got a bunch of men coming,” Billy said; “if they put the place on the bum you’ve got to help me bounce them, Dick.”
“Up-stairs in the service kitchen,” Betty was 43 explaining to Caroline, “they keep all the dishes that don’t have to be heated for serving, also the silver and daily linen supply. When we seat ourselves at a table like this, the waitress to whom it is assigned goes in and gets a basket of bread—I think it’s a pretty idea to serve the bread in baskets, don’t you?—and whatever silver is necessary, and a bottle of water. When she places those things she asks us what our choice of a meat course is,—there is a choice except on chicken night—and gives that order in the kitchen when she goes to get our soup.”
“Who serves the things,—puts the meat on the plates, and dishes up the vegetables?”
“The cook—Nancy won’t let me call him the chef—because she is going to make a specialty of the southern element of his education. He has a serving-table by his range and he cuts up the meat and fowl, and dishes up the vegetables. In a bigger establishment he would have a helper to do that.”
“Why can’t Michael help him?” Dick asked.
“Michael calls him the Haythan Shinee. He is rather a glossy man, you know, and he says when the time comes for him, Michael, to dress 44 like a street cleaner and pilot a gravy boat, he’ll let us know.”
“Respect for his superiors is not one of Michael’s most salient characteristics,” Dick twinkled. “Nancy and I have a scheme for making a match between him and Hitty.”
“Here’s the soup,” Betty announced. “Nancy’s idea is to have everything perfectly simple, and—and—”
“Simply perfect,” Billy assisted her.
“Isn’t she going to eat with us?” Dick asked.