He was not prepared however for the queer language in which the menu card or bill of fare was printed. It was French, and the names of the most ordinary dishes were in that foreign tongue.
Roy was puzzled. He wanted a substantial meal, but he did not know how to order it. He was afraid to try to pronounce the odd looking words, and I am afraid if he had done so he would have made a mistake, as, indeed, better educated persons than he would have done. He had a wild notion of telling the waiter to bring everything on the bill of fare, but there seemed to be too many dishes.
Finally he decided on a course to pursue. The waiter was standing there, polite and all attention, for, though Roy's clothes did not impress him as indicating a lad of wealth, Mr. Baker's attire was showy enough to allow the colored man to think he might receive a handsome tip.
"I think I'll have a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee," said Roy in desperation. He knew he was safe in ordering that, even if it was not on the card, though it might have been for all he knew, disguised under some odd name.
Mr. Baker looked surprised.
"I should say you hadn't any appetite," he remarked. Then, as he understood the situation, and Roy's embarrassment, he said: "Suppose I order for both of us? I am used to this sort of thing."
Roy was grateful for this delicate way of putting it, and, with a sigh of relief, he replied:
"I wish you would. I guess I've got a good appetite after all."
Thereupon Mr. Baker ordered a simple but substantial meal, including soup, fish, roast beef, potatoes and side dishes of vegetables, ending up with coffee and pie.
"This is fine!" exclaimed Roy, when he had finished. "I s'pose they charge about two dollars for grub like this?"