  (Extract from an Earl's Courtier's Notebook) 6 P.M.—Come down early, to get a table. Can't. All the tables booked a week in advance. Very angry. Manager says he'll see what can be done for me—later on. Fairly satisfied. He had better! 7 P.M.—In state of heat. Have a fair appetite. Ask for table. "What table?" "The one promised me—later on." "Very sorry, but they are all engaged." Awfully angry. Explain that I am a person of some importance. Can do the place a great deal of good if I do have a table, and vice versÂ. Manager desolated. See everybody else stuffing, drinking, and enjoying themselves. How they can have the heart! And I table-less! But, no matter, a time will come. I'll write to "the leading journal" and denounce everything and everybody. 7.15 P.M.—Explosively wrathful. At last! Ha! ha! Got a table. But at the back somewhere. 7.20 P.M.—Bonne Femme soup good. Have ordered champagne cup. Still annoyed. 7.30 P.M.—Salmon mayonnaise distinctly excellent. Good idea to have cold dinner. Champagne cup well brewed. Don't notice the smell of cooking. Can hear the band. Nice band. 7.40 P.M.—PÂtÉ de fois gras en aspic. Capital Cold joint. First-rate. Salad artistically mixed. Second champagne cup as good as first. After all, place of table not so bad. A True Artist A True Artist.—Mamma (to Tommy, who has been allowed for a few minutes to wait at table). "Now, Tommy, kiss me, and go to bed." Tommy (to footman). "Do you ever kiss the missus, Charles?" Footman. "No, sir!" Tommy. "Then I won't!" |
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