“What’s ’at? Sit down?”
“Yes—or get out.”
Peter turned to Dean.
“Come on,” he suggested. “Let’s beat up this waiter.”
“All right.”
They advanced toward him, their faces grown stern. The waiter retreated.
Peter suddenly reached over to a plate on the table beside him and picking up a handful of hash tossed it into the air. It descended as a languid parabola in snowflake effect on the heads of those near by.
“Hey! Ease up!”
“Put him out!”
“Sit down, Peter!”