“It’s rather like Paris, you know,” said the younger of our two travellers.
“It’s like Paris—only more so,” his companion returned.
“I suppose it’s the French waiters,” said the first speaker. “Why don’t they have French waiters in London?”
“Ah, but fancy a French waiter at a London club!” said his friend.
The elder man stared as if he couldn’t fancy it. “In Paris I’m very apt to dine at a place where there’s an English waiter. Don’t you know, what’s-his-name’s, close to the thingumbob? They always set an English waiter at me. I suppose they think I can’t speak French.”
“No more you can!” And this candid critic unfolded his napkin.
The other paid no heed whatever to his candour. “I say,” the latter resumed in a moment, “I suppose we must learn to speak American. I suppose we must take lessons.”
“I can’t make them out, you know,” said the clever man.
“What the deuce is he saying?” asked his comrade, appealing from the French waiter.
“He’s recommending some soft-shell crabs,” said the clever man.