“O, no, sir! it—it's a keepsake.”
“Oh! it was a keepsake, was it, Bubby? Well, dot's grand. Well, who was it a keepsake of? It's a handsome sword, Bubby, and it must be worth quite a good deal of money. If dot's chenu-wine gold, I shouldn't wonder if it was worth two or three hundred dollars.—Oh! by the way, Bubby, you had your breakfast yet already?”
“Well, yes, sir; I've had a sort of breakfast.”
“A sort of a breakfast, hey? Well, what sort of a breakfast was it?”
I gave him an account of my experience in the ladies' and gents' dining parlor. He laughed immoderately, though I couldn't see that it was so very funny. “Well, Bubby,” he remarked, “dot was simply immense. Dot oughter go into a comic paper, mit a picture of dot big nigger staring at you. Well, I give ten dollars to been there, and heard him tell you dot fork was solid silver. Well, dot was a. pretty poor sort of a breakfast, anyhow. I guess you better come along out mit me now, and we get anudder sort of a breakfast, hey? You just wait here a minute while I go put on my hat. And say, Bubby, I guess you better give me dot sword, to leaf here while we're gone. I don't believe you'll need it. Give me dem udder things, too,” pointing to my satchel and my book.
He went away, but soon came back, with his hat on; and, taking my hand, he led me out into the street. After a walk of a few blocks, we turned into a luxurious little restaurant, as unlike the dining parlor as a fine lady is unlike a beggar woman, and sat down at a neat round table covered with a snowy cloth.
“Now, Bubby,” inquired Mr. Marx, “you got any preferences? Or will you give me card blanch to order what I think best?”
“Oh! order what you think best.”
He beckoned a waiter, and spoke to him at some length in a foreign language, which, I guessed, was German. The waiter went off; and then, addressing me, Mr. Marx said, “Well, now, Bubby, now we're settled down, quiet and comfortable, now you go ahead and tell me all about it.”
“All about what, sir?” queried I.