“Waiter, I wish you would give my dog something to eat.”
“Your dog, sir?—where is it?” asked the colored man, looking around the room, and then giving a loud whistle to call the invisible animal forth.
“Here,” replied Sutton, sharply; “or you may bring me a plate and I’ll feed him myself;” and he pointed to the miniature specimen, lying like a little lump of floss-silk, on his foot.
“That! I-I-I—he! he! ha! ha!” exclaimed the waiter, attempting at first to restrain himself, and then bursting into a chuckling laugh; “is it—really—a dog, sir?—a live dog!”
Cupidon, as if outraged by the suspicion, hereupon sprang into the middle of the room, barking at the height of his feeble voice, and showing his tiny white teeth, while his wicked little eyes sparkled with anger. The cachinnations of the amused and astonished servant increased at every bark, and drew a laugh from Wallis, and a smile from each of the ladies. Sutton with difficulty silenced his favorite, and finding that the desired impression of his consequence had not been made, he proceeded to another essay. “Waiter,” he slowly enunciated, with a look of disgust at the steel implement in his hand; “have you no silver forks?”
“Sir?” said the attendant with a puzzled expression.
“Any silver forks?” he repeated emphatically.
“No, sir; we don’t keep the article.”
“Then you should not put fish on the table; they ought properly to be inseparable,” he returned, magisterially, and rising from his seat, he approached the stranger of the chaise, who had quietly placed himself some distance below them, and asked, “Have you any such things as silver forks among your commodities?—I believe that persons in your vocation sometimes deal in articles of that description.”
The stranger looked up in surprise, and, after scanning him from head to foot, a frown which was gathering on his face gave way to a look of humorous complacency—“I am sorry I can’t accommodate you, sir,” said he; “but I might probably suggest a substitute;—how would a tea-spoon do?”