The proprietor of the large-bosomed lady was, with the aid of a fish-knife, able to hold in place the Welsh rarebit; but he was too late in his endeavour to reach the under-plate on which reposed the "caille en casserole," which suddenly made a dive for the apex of the V of the lady's blouse.
As she felt the hot, moist bird touch her, she gave a shriek and started back. Bindle also started, and the lady's possessor lost his grip on the Welsh rarebit, which slid off the plate on to his lap.
Greatly concerned, Bindle placed the empty Welsh rarebit plate quickly on the table and, seizing a fork, stabbed the errant and romantic quail, replacing it upon its plate. He then went to the assistance of the gentleman who had received the Welsh rarebit face downwards on his lap.
With great care Bindle returned it to the plate, with the exception of such portions as clung affectionately to the customer's person.
To confound confusion the superintendent dashed up full of apologies for the customers and threatening looks for the cause of the mishap. Bindle turned to the lady, who was hysterically dabbing her chest with a napkin.
"I 'ope you ain't 'urt, mum," he said with genuine solicitude; "I didn't see where 'e was goin', slippery little devil!" and Bindle regarded the bird reproachfully. Then remembering that another was waiting for it, he crossed over to the table at which sat the customer who had ordered "caille en casserole" and placed the plate before him.
The man looked up in surprise.
"You'd better take that away," he said. "That bird's a bit too enterprising for me."
"A bit too wot, sir?" interrogated Bindle, lifting the plate to his nose. "I don't smell it, sir," he added seriously.
"I ordered 'caille en casserole,'" responded the man. "You bring me 'caille en cocotte.'"