The E.A. I ordered Bisque—where is it? and I want some wine, too—a pint of Pommery '84, and a small lager. If they're not here very soon, I'll—
The Guest (trying to make the best of things). Nothing for it but patience, I suppose.
The E.A. (with intention). I had very little of that left before I sat down, I can tell you!
A Sarcastic and Solitary Diner. Waiter, could you spare me one moment of your valuable time? (The Waiter halts irresolutely.) It is so long since I had the pleasure of speaking to you, that you may possibly have forgotten that about three-quarters of an hour ago I ventured to express a preference for an Entrecôte aux pommes de terre with a half-bottle of Beaune. Could you give me any idea how much longer those rare dainties may take in preparing, and in the meantime enable me to support the pangs of starvation by procuring me the favour of a penny roll, if I am not trespassing too much upon your good-nature?
[The Waiter, in a state of extreme mystification and alarm, departs to inform the Manager.
The E.A.'s Waiter (reappearing with a small plated bowl, champagne bottle and glass of lager.) I regred fery moch to haf to dell you zat zere is only shust enough Bisque for von berson. [He bows with well-bred concern.
The E.A. Confound it all! (To Guest.) Here, you'd better take this, now it's here. Afraid of it, eh? Well, Bisque is apt to disagree with some people. (To Waiter.) Give it to me, and bring this gentleman some gravy soup, or whatever else you have ready. (He busies himself with his Bisque, while the Guest, in pure absence of mind, drinks the champagne with which the Waiter has filled his glass.) Here, what are you doing? I didn't order lager. (Perceives the mistake.) Oh, you've changed your mind, have you? (To Guest.) All right, of course, only it's a pity you couldn't say so at once. (To W.) Another pint of Pommery, and take this lager stuff away. (Exit W.; the unfortunate Guest, in attempting to pass the bottle, contrives to decant it into his host's soup.) Hullo, what the—there—(controlling himself). You might have left me the soup, at all events! Well—well—it's no use saying any more about it. I suppose I shall get something to eat some day.
[General tumult from several tables; appeals to the Waiters, who lose their heads and upbraid one another in their own tongue; HORATIA threatens bitterly to go in search of buns and lemonade at a Refreshment Bar. Sudden and timely appearance of energetic Manager; explanations, apologies, promises. Magic and instantaneous production of everybody's dinner. Appetite and anger appeased, as Scene closes in.
N.B.—Mr. Punch wishes it to be understood that the above sketch is not intended as a reflection upon any of the deservedly popular restaurants existing at present in either exhibition.