Starving Individual.—“I should like to have something to eat.”
Waiter.—“Isn’t there plenty to eat all round you?”
Individual.—“But I want some meat.”
Waiter.—“Why don’t you ask for it, then? What do you want?”
Individual.—“What kinds are there?”
Waiter.—“Why there’s beefsteak, to be sure.”
Individual.—“I would like to have some beefsteak.”
Waiter.—“Why didn’t you say so, then, at first? Give me your plate if you expect me to get it for you.”
It was their habit to empty the water left in the glasses back into the pitchers, and when I asked one for a glass of water, he drank out of it himself first, and then handed it to me. On another occasion he helped Don by giving him the tumbler a stranger had just used.
These little peculiarities all round encouraged sociability; you could hardly refuse to know a man when you had drunk out of the same glass and eaten from the same dish with him, and a lady naturally felt at home with a gentleman whose ribs she had been punching for half an hour. The progress of the meal, however, was somewhat checkered, not a few of the guests clamoring for their dessert ere the others had finished their soup. The only explanation of this haste was from the graceful stewardess, who was the redeeming feature of the boat, and who said the waiters were in a hurry so as to have it over as soon as possible. It might aptly be said of the Americans: “They eat to live.”