When they had drunk, each one again said, “Well! well!”
“You old maverick!” said Cousin Egbert.
“You—dashed—old horned toad!” responded his friend.
“What’s the matter with a little snack?”
“Not a thing on earth. My appetite ain’t been so powerful craving since Heck was a pup.”
These were their actual words, though it may not be believed. The Tuttle person now approached his cabman, who had waited beside the curb.
“Say, Frank,” he began, “Ally restorong,” and this he supplemented with a crude but informing pantomime of one eating. Cousin Egbert was already seated in the cab, and I could do nothing but follow. “Ally restorong!” commanded our new friend in a louder tone, and the cabman with an explosion of understanding drove rapidly off.
“It’s a genuine wonder to me how you learned the language so quick,” said Cousin Egbert.
“It’s all in the accent,” protested the other. I occupied a narrow seat in the front. Facing me in the back seat, they lolled easily and smoked their cigars. Down the thronged boulevard we proceeded at a rapid pace and were passing presently before an immense gray edifice which I recognized as the so-called Louvre from its illustration on the cover of Cousin Egbert’s art book. He himself regarded it with interest, though I fancy he did not recognize it, for, waving his cigar toward it, he announced to his friend:
“The Public Library.” His friend surveyed the building with every sign of approval.