“I can’t eat this soup.”
“I’ll bring you another kind, sir,” said the waiter as he took it away.
“Neither can I eat this soup!” said the guest a trifle more emphatically, when the second plate was served.
The waiter, angrily but silently, for the third time brought a plate of soup.
“I simply can’t eat this soup!” once more said the guest, in a low, emphatic tone.
By this time the waiter was furious and called the hotel proprietor, while the guests at the nearby table looked over that way with curious glances.
“Really, sir, this is unusual. May I ask why can’t you eat any of our soups?” demanded the proprietor.
“Because I have no spoon,” replied the guest quietly.
Why He Would Like It
The little son of the minister, at Sunday dinner, said at the family table: