Elizabeth Eliza, meanwhile, was trying her grammar phrases with the Parisian.
She found it easier to talk French than to understand him. But he understood perfectly her sentences. She repeated one of her vocabularies, and went on with—“J’ai le livre.” “As-tu le pain?” “L’enfant a une poire.” He listened with great attention, and replied slowly. Suddenly she started after making out one of his sentences, and went to her mother to whisper, “They have made the mistake you feared. They think they are invited to lunch! He has just been thanking me for our politeness in inviting them to déjeûner,—that means breakfast!”
“They have not had their breakfast!” exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, looking at her Spaniard; “he does look hungry! What shall we do?”
Elizabeth Eliza was consulting her father. What should they do? How should they make them understand that they invited them to teach, not lunch. Elizabeth Eliza begged Agamemnon to look out “apprendre” in the dictionary. It must mean to teach. Alas, they found it means both to teach and to learn! What should they do? The foreigners were now sitting silent in their different corners. The Spaniard grew more and more sallow. What if he should faint? The Frenchman was rolling up each of his mustaches to a point as he gazed at the German. What if the Russian should fight the Turk? What if the German should be exasperated by the airs of the Parisian?
“We must give them something to eat,” said Mr. Peterkin, in a low tone. “It would calm them.”
“If I only knew what they were used to eating,” said Mrs. Peterkin.
Solomon John suggested that none of them knew what the others were used to eating, and they might bring in anything.
Mrs. Peterkin hastened out with hospitable intents. Amanda could make good coffee. Mr. Peterkin had suggested some American dish. Solomon John sent a little boy for some olives.
It was not long before the coffee came in, and a dish of baked beans. Next, some olives and a loaf of bread, and some boiled eggs, and some bottles of beer. The effect was astonishing. Every man spoke his own tongue, and fluently. Mrs.
Peterkin poured out coffee for the Spaniard, while he bowed to her. They all liked beer, they all liked olives. The Frenchman was fluent about “les moeurs Américaines.” Elizabeth Eliza supposed he alluded to their not having set any table. The Turk smiled, the Russian was voluble. In the midst of the clang of the different languages, just as Mr. Peterkin was again repeating, under cover of the noise of many tongues, “How shall we make them understand that we want them to teach?”—at this very moment the door was flung open, and there came in the lady from Philadelphia, that day arrived, her first call of the season!