“Anything more, sir?” suddenly inquired the voice of the waiter, who had attended them, just behind Val’s chair. “You mustn’t make a pig of yourself.”
Val wheeled angrily, to find that not a soul was standing near him.
“Bar!” he exclaimed, turning back, “did you hear that? Did he mean me?”
It was the waiter’s voice again, closer than before, and Val sprang to his feet indignantly.
“Don’t step on me! Here I am, down here. Take your foot off. Oh, what a mouth!”
Val had lifted his feet quickly enough, but involuntarily, but now he gazed earnestly in the motionless face of his new friend.
“Bar Vernon, are you a ventriloquist!”
“Of course he is,” exclaimed the voice on the floor. “Don’t you see how long his ears are? Take your foot off. There, now I can die in peace. Good-bye!”
A long, choking sort of gurgle followed, but Val’s face was all one radiance of triumphant fun.