How’s that? Well, say, I couldn’t name it, or say whether it was a stew, fry or an omelet, but for an impromptu sample of fancy grub it was a little the tastiest article I ever stacked up against.
“Why!” says Jarvis, smackin’ his lips after the third forkful. “It’s ris de veau, isn’t it?”
“But yes, monsieur!” says Heiney, his face lightin’ up. “Eet ees ris de veau grillé, à la financier.”
“And what’s that in English?” says I.
“In Englise,” says Heiney, shruggin’ his shoulders, “eet ees not exist. Eet ees Parisienne.”
“Bully for Paris, then!” says I. “Whatever it might be if it could be naturalized, it touches the spot. I take it all back, Heiney. You’re the shiftiest chef that ever juggled a fryin’ pan. A refill on the riddy-voo, seal-voo-plate.”
Well, what do you guess! Jarvis engages Heiney on the spot, and an hour later they’ve started for Blenmont, both of ’em actin’ like they thought this was a good world to live in, after all.
Yesterday me and Sadie accepts a special invite out there to dinner; and it was worth goin’ out to get. From start to finish it was the finest that ever happened. Afterwards Jarvis has Heiney come up from the kitchen and show himself while we drinks his good health. And say, in his white togs and starched linen cap, he’s got the chef on the canned goods ads. lookin’ like a hash rustler in a beanery.
As for Jarvis, he’s got the pink back in his cheeks, and is holdin’ his chin up once more, and when we left in the mornin’ he was out bossin’ a couple of hundred lab’rers that was takin’ that hill in wheelbarrows and cartin’ it off where it wouldn’t interfere with the lake.
“Shorty,” says he, “I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve made me a sane man again, and I owe you more than——”