And so it was arranged.
It was, as I say, the strangest dinner Rollo had ever attended. It was served in a private room of the handsome edifice owned by Mr. Ritz, and the menu or bill-of-fare was most elaborate, consisting of beautiful, ornamental dishes which were whisked before Rollo’s eyes in rapid succession. Each course was accompanied by a different beverage, and toward the end the serving gentlemen filled large tumblers with a most delicious sparkling cider, which Rollo vowed the best he had ever tasted.
Such fun as they had! The guests were eight in number, with Rollo making the ninth, and never had he seen such merry companions. Very few of rare viands were actually eaten, quite an amazing quantity being spilled, or thrown from one guest to another, and Rollo could not keep from thinking with some dismay of his bib at home which Lucy had cross-stitched for him with the words “Waste not, want not.” He was comforted, however, by the assurance of a Mr. Stewart who sat next him, that the food would be scraped up in the morning and sent to the starving women of Mesopotamia.
Then the strangest thing happened. The cider-goblets having been filled, a Mr. Weaver, who was called the best-man, cried loudly,—“Bottoms up! To the bride.” At this shocking remark, everyone drained his portion of cider and then cast the goblet at the wall or ceiling or floor so that the handsome Brussels carpet was covered with broken glass.
“Well, I declare!” thought Rollo, “if Mr. Weaver is the best man, I wonder what the others are like!” and partly to hide his confusion, partly to restore order, he rose and said, “Gentlemen, with your kind permission, I will read a poem.”
“’Ray, ’ray,” shouted Uncle George, “Squiet, please, squiet.”
Then Rollo read as follows:
“O, Hail! O beauteous, blushing bride
Your future will be happy we know,
When you are by your husband’s side,
And no more with your folks in Reno.
Your other husband, I’ve heard say,
Was one in whom affection dwindled,
But Uncle George I’m sure will stay
And tend the fire which he has kindled.”
Rollo’s poem was a great success and after that a Mr. Bishop and a Mr. Benchley sang many duets, while the others made speeches, to which Uncle George replied, sitting on the floor and making gestures over the edge of the table.
The sun was shining when Rollo reached home and placed his cravat and gloves at his father’s door, keeping the scarf pin for himself, but the little fellow was delighted to see that it was only half after seven by the parlour clock, so that he had obeyed his father’s instructions and got home before nine after all.