“Oh, I'm a regular devil,” he laughed. “Nothing's too good to-day—not even tailor-made smokes. An' no chop houses nor Jap joints for you an' me. It's Barnum's.”
They strolled to the restaurant at Seventh and Broadway where they had had their wedding supper.
“Let's make believe we're not married,” Saxon suggested.
“Sure,” he agreed, “—an' take a private room so as the waiter'll have to knock on the door each time he comes in.”
Saxon demurred at that.
“It will be too expensive, Billy. You'll have to tip him for the knocking. We'll take the regular dining room.”
“Order anything you want,” Billy said largely, when they were seated. “Here's family porterhouse, a dollar an' a half. What d'ye say?”
“And hash-browned,” she abetted, “and coffee extra special, and some oysters first—I want to compare them with the rock oysters.”
Billy nodded, and looked up from the bill of fare.
“Here's mussels bordelay. Try an order of them, too, an' see if they beat your Rock Wall ones.”