"
She was amazed to find later how much it tasted like chicken soup.
"We don't want any fish, do we?" Ferriday moaned. "Or do we? They
don't really understand the supreme de sole a la Verdi here, so
suppose we skip to the roast, unless you would risk the aigulette
de pompano, Coquelin. The last time I had a troncon de saumon here
I had to send it back."
Kedzie said, "Let's skip."
She shuddered. The word reminded her, as always, of Skip Magruder.
She remembered how he had hung over the table that far-away morning
and recommended ham 'n'eggs. His dirty shirt-sleeves and his grin
came back to her now. The gruesome Banquo reminded her so vividly
of her early guilt of plebeiancy that she shivered. The alert
Ferriday noticed it and called:
"Have that window closed at once. There's an infernal draught here."
Kedzie was thrilled at his autocratic manner. He scared off the ghost
of Magruder.
Ferriday pondered aloud the bill of fare as if it were the plot of
a new feature film.
"Capon en casserole, milk-fed guinea-hen escoffier, plover en
cocotte, English golden pheasant, partridge--do any of those
tiresome things interest you?"
It was like asking her whether she would have a Gorham tea-set,
a Balcom gown, or a Packard landaulet. She wanted them all.
But her eyes caught the prices. Four dollars for an English pheasant!
No wonder they called it golden. It seemed a shame, though, to stick
such a nice man, after he had already ordered two dollars and a
half's worth of caviar.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210