The restaurant is provided with small numbered tables. Each table is in direct communication with the kitchen by means of rails. Close at hand are a certain number of electric buttons upon which the customer sees written beef, mutton, chop, vegetables, tart, etc. He touches three, four, five buttons, according to his appetite, and the cook receives his order.
"Steak and potatoes, tomato, salad, chocolate cream, for No. 52!... All right, ready!"
In an instant a tray bearing the lunch appears upon the table, placed there without hands. When the customer has disposed of his food, he touches the button marked bill. In a twinkling the bill appears on his plate, and the assuaged American settles it at the desk as he goes out. The whole thing is as simple as bonjour.
The American complains that it is impossible to lunch in less than ten minutes. This evil will be remedied shortly.
If you want a really striking sight, go to one of the great restaurants of Chicago or New York at lunch time. Those Americans using their knife and fork will make your head swim. At a little distance, they look as if they were all playing the dulcimer.
I lunched one day at the Astor House, near the heart of the Stock Exchange furnace of New York. I was standing at the bar making all the speed possible with my food, so as to give place to the crowd pressing behind me. All the time I heard such remarks as:
"There's one that isn't in a hurry! How much longer is he going to be? Is he going to take an hour over his grub?"
You eat too fast, my dear Jonathan, and I understand why your anti-dyspeptic pill makers cover your walls with their advertisements. You die young; and you do not live, you burn out. You rush on at express speed, in your chase after the dollar, and you have not time to look at Happiness, standing with open arms at your door. Your very evenings are not your own. Hardly have you taken upon your knees one of your lovely little ones to kiss and caress, hardly have you begun a little love-scene with your pretty wife, when, ding, ding, ding, there is the telephone going.
"Hello! Hello!"
Your wife and children would fain see the telephone thrown to the winds, for you are a gallant husband and a charming father.