"Well," she says, "our meals is throwed in."
"Yes," says I, "and the hotel furnishes a key."
"You promised in St. Augustine," she says, "that you wouldn't worry no more about expenses."
Well, rather than make a scene in front o' the bellhops and the few millionaires that was able to be about at that hour o' the mornin', I just says "All right!" and led her into the dinin'-room.
The head waiter met us at the door and turned us over to his assistant. Then some more assistants took hold of us one at a time and we was relayed to a beautiful spot next door to the kitchen and bounded on all sides by posts and pillars. It was all right for me, but a whole lot too private for the Missus; so I had to call the fella that had been our pacemaker on the last lap.
"We don't like this table," I says.
"It's the only one I can give you," he says.
I slipped him half a buck.
"Come to think of it," he says, "I believe they's one I forgot all about."
And he moved us way up near the middle o' the place.