The Egotistic Amphitryon (concluding an harangue). Well, all I've got to say is I've been here half-an-hour—(with a bitter sense of the anomaly of the situation)—waiting about for You!! (They seat themselves at one of the little tables under the verandah.) Oh, you're going to sit that side, are you? It's all the same to me, except that there's a confounded draught here which—well, you're young, and these things don't affect you—or oughtn't to. (They exchange sides.) We shall have to hurry our dinner now, if we mean to hear anything of the music. That was the reason I expressly told you seven sharp. Here, Waiter! (Waiter presents a carte, and stands by with a proud humility.) Now, what are you going to have? (To Guest.) You don't mind? I hate to hear a man say he doesn't care what he eats—he ought to care, he must care. What do you say to this—"Potage Bisque d'écrivisses; Saumon Sauce Hollandaise; Brimborions de veau farcis à l'imprévu; Ducklings and green peas; New Potatoes; Salad"? Simple and, ah, satisfying. (To Waiter.) Let us have that as sharp as you can; do you hear?
Waiter. Quick? Yes, I dell zem. [He hurries off.
The E.A. Hang the fellow, he's forgotten the wine! (To Guest.) What will you drink?
The Guest (thinks it will look greedy if he suggests champagne). Oh—er—whatever you're going to drink.
The E.A. Well, I'm going to have a glass of champagne myself. I want it after all this worry. But if you prefer beer (considerately), say so. (The Guest, in a spirit of propitiation, prefers beer.) Well, we could have managed a bottle of Pommery between us, and it's never so good to my mind in the pints—but please yourself, of course.
[The Guest feels that his moderation has missed fire, but dares not retract; they sit in silence for some time, without anything of importance happening, except that a strange Waiter swoops down and carries away their bread-basket.
A Meek Man (at an adjoining table, who, probably for family reasons, is entertaining his Sister-in-law, a lady with an aquiline nose and remarkably thick eyebrows.) You know, HORATIA, I call this sort of thing very jolly, having dinner like this in the fresh air, eh? [He rubs his hands under the table.
Horatia (acidly). It may be so, AUGUSTUS, when we do have it. At present we have been sitting here fifteen minutes, and had nothing but fresh air and small flies, and, as I don't pretend to be a Chameleon myself, why— [She fans herself vigorously.
Augustus. Well, you know, my dear, we were warned that the trout en papillotes might take some little time. I suppose (with mild Jocularity)—it's a fashionable fish—wants to come in with a "little head sunning over with curls," as the poet says.