The waiter approached.
"What to drink?" he asked briskly.
"Nothing to drink," answered Peter, and, pointing out the caption, Table D'Hôte $1.50, said "Two."
"Two what?" asked the waiter.
"Why, two of what it says—two tarble dotes."
"And what drinks did you say?" The waiter bent a confidential ear and scratched his head with his pencil while he waited. Peter looked up at the ear; then he stretched up and whispered into it:
"Ever hear of the Boundin' Biller, Captain Hanks?"
"The Boundin' Biller?" Well, all kinds of queer ones blow into restaurants—the waiter slewed his head round, looked at Peter, put his ear down, and whispered back: "What about it?"
And Peter whispered up into the waiting ear:
"The Boundin' Biller, Captain Hanks,
She was hove flat down on th' Western Banks."