"I'd be very pleased if you would," the waiter said a bit more firmly.
"Oh, you wouldn't be pleased at all," Toffee said. "You'd despise it. Now just run along and get some more silver."
"So you can stuff this fellow's pockets with it?" the waiter said. "If you put any more in them they'll rip off."
"We want to eat with it," Toffee said.
"How novel," the waiter said. He turned to the Blemishes and blanched slightly. "Would you ... uh ... gentlemen please remove your hats?"
"Now look here," Toffee said. "There's no use getting petty about this thing." She nodded toward the vacant chair on the other side of the table. "Sit down, and I'll explain everything."
The waiter gazed on her with heavy disdain. "I can't sit down," he said.
Marc, on his side of the table, had looked away for a moment, his attention caught by the frankly admiring glance of a dark, heavy-lidded lady at the next table. There was about her an unmistakably continental air, and Marc couldn't help noticing that her neckline had plunged and crashed somewhere in the neighborhood of the Arc de Triumph. He flushed and turned away.
"Oh, please," he said anxiously, to no one in particular. "Please give me something to eat."
"Can't sit down?" Toffee said to the waiter. "For heaven's sake, why not? Has something happened to your...?"