“Vooley-voos your friends take something, too?” he demanded further, with a gesture that embraced all the cabmen present, and these, too, appeared to accept with the utmost cordiality.
“You’re a wonder, Jeff,” said Cousin Egbert. “You talk it like a professor.”
“It come natural to me,” said the fellow, “and it’s a good thing, too. If you know a little French you can go all over Europe without a bit of trouble.”
Inside the place was all activity, for many cabmen were now accepting the proffered hospitality, and calling “votry santy!” to their host, who seemed much pleased. Then to my amazement Cousin Egbert insisted that our cabman should sit at table with us. I trust I have as little foolish pride as most people, but this did seem like crowding it on a bit thick. In fact, it looked rather dicky. I was glad to remember that we were in what seemed to be the foreign quarter of the town, where it was probable that no one would recognize us. The drink came, though our cabman refused the whiskey and secured a bottle of native wine.
“Three rousing cheers!” said Cousin Egbert as we drank once more, and added as an afterthought, “What a beautiful world we live in!”
“Vooley-voos make-um bring dinner!” said the Tuttle person to the cabman, who thereupon spoke at length in his native tongue to the waiter. By this means we secured a soup that was not half bad and presently a stew of mutton which Cousin Egbert declared was “some goo.” To my astonishment I ate heartily, even in such raffish surroundings. In fact, I found myself pigging it with the rest of them. With coffee, cigars were brought from the tobacconist’s next-door, each cabman present accepting one. Our own man was plainly feeling a vast pride in his party, and now circulated among his fellows with an account of our merits.
“This is what I call life,” said the Tuttle person, leaning back in his chair.
“I’m coming right back here every day,” declared Cousin Egbert happily.
“What’s the matter with a little drive to see some well-known objects of interest?” inquired his friend.
“Not art galleries,” insisted Cousin Egbert.