The waiter jumped up and rubbed his eyes. “What is it, monsieur?” he snapped.
Elliott repeated the order and they strolled off toward a table. As Clifford came lounging by, Carleton said, “I hear you lead with a number one at the Salon.”
“Right, I’m the first to be fired.”
“He’s calm now,” said Elliott, “but you should have seen him yesterday when the green card came.”
“Well, yes. I discoursed a little in several languages.”
“After he had used up his English profanity, he called the Jury names in French, German and Spanish. The German stuck, but came out at last like a cork out of a bottle—”
“Or a bung out of a barrel.”
“These comparisons are as offensive as they are unjust,” said Clifford.
“Quite so,” said Braith. “Here’s the waiter with your beer.”
“What number did you get, Braith?” asked Rhodes, who couldn’t keep his mind off the subject and made no pretense of trying.