"Nebber seen de like afore. Reckon I isn't g'wine to tote soup and fish for no nigger: I'll see de boss."
That meant an appeal to the lordly and pompous but quite gentlemanly "head waiter," a man as white as Ford Foster. A word or two to him, a finger pointed towards the upper end of the hall, and the keen eyes of the "man in authority" took it all in.
"Six of them,—five white and one black. Well, Gus, do they look as if they could pay their bill before they go?"
"Yes, sah, dey does. De young gen'lman wid de bill ob fare in his han', he's got moah cheek, an' moah tongue, an' moah lip, sah"—
"Well then, Gus, you just tramp right along. If he and the rest don't care, I don't. It'll be time enough for me to make a fool of myself when somebody offers to pay me for it. Give 'em their dinner! Sharp!"
"It's jes' a mons'ous outrage," growled the offended waiter, as he stalked away; but he took good care to obey his orders, for he had a consciousness that the eyes of his "master" were on him. He could hardly have guessed how completely his errand had been understood by the six boys, or how closely Ford Foster had "hit it." Said he, in reply to an angry remark from Dab Kinzer,—
"It's all humbug. They run this concern to make money, and they want some of ours. Mr. Marigold'll be sent right back with our soup."
He was right; but, before they had eaten their way to the pie and pudding, Ford was dignifiedly informed,—
"If you please, sah, my name isn't Mr. Marigold, sah, it is Mr.
Bellerington, sah; an' my first name isn't Coffee, sah, it's Augustus."
"You don't say," replied Ford: "well, Augustus, don't forget the little remark I made about pie and the other things."