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They had dinner in the Moorish Grillroom of the Hotel
Sedgwick. Somewhere, somehow, they seemed to have gathered
in two other comrades: a manufacturer of fly-paper and
a dentist. They all drank whisky from tea-cups, and they
were humorous, and never listened to one another, except when
W. A. Rogers "kidded'' the Italian waiter.
"Say, Gooseppy,'' he said innocently, "I want a couple o'
fried elephants' ears.''
"Sorry, sir, we haven't any.''
"Huh? No elephants' ears? What do you know about
that!'' Rogers turned to Babbitt. "Pedro says the elephants'
ears are all out!''
"Well, I'll be switched!'' said the man from Sparta, with
difficulty hiding his laughter.
"Well, in that case, Carlo, just bring me a hunk o' steak
and a couple o' bushels o' French fried potatoes and some
peas,'' Rogers went on. "I suppose back in dear old sunny
It' the Eyetalians get their fresh garden peas out of the can.''
"No, sir, we have very nice peas in Italy.''
"Is that a fact! Georgie, do you hear that? They get their
fresh garden peas out of the garden, in Italy! By golly, you
live and learn, don't you, Antonio, you certainly do live and
learn, if you live long enough and keep your strength. All
right, Garibaldi, just shoot me in that steak, with about two
printers'-reams of French fried spuds on the promenade deck,
comprehenez-vous, Michelovitch Angeloni?''
Afterward Elbert Wing admired, "Gee, you certainly did
have that poor Dago going, W. A. He couldn't make you
out at all!''
In the Monarch Herald, Babbitt found an advertisement
which he read aloud, to applause and laughter:
Old Colony Theatre
Shake the Old Dogs to the
WROLLICKING WRENS
The bonniest bevy of beauteous
bathing babes in burlesque.
Pete Menutti and his
Oh, Gee, Kids.
This is the straight steer, Benny, the painless chicklets
of the Wrollicking Wrens are the cuddlingest bunch
that ever hit town. Steer the feet, get the card board,
and twist the pupils to the PDQest show ever. You
will get 111% on your kale in this fun-fest. The
Calroza Sisters are sure some lookers and will give
you a run for your gelt. Jock Silbersteen is one of
the pepper lads and slips you a dose of real laughter.
Shoot the up and down to Jackson and West for graceful
tappers. They run 1-2 under the wire. Provin and
Adams will blow the blues in their laugh skit "Hootch
Mon!'' Something doing, boys. Listen to what the
Hep Bird twitters.
"Sounds like a juicy show to me. Let's all take it in,'' said
Babbitt.
But they put off departure as long as they could. They
were safe while they sat here, legs firmly crossed under the
table, but they felt unsteady; they were afraid of navigating
the long and slippery floor of the grillroom under the eyes of
the other guests and the too-attentive waiters.
When they did venture, tables got in their way, and they
sought to cover embarrassment by heavy jocularity at the coatroom.
As the girl handed out their hats, they smiled at her,
and hoped that she, a cool and expert judge, would feel that
they were gentlemen. They croaked at one another, "Who
owns the bum lid?'' and "You take a good one, George; I'll
take what's left,'' and to the check-girl they stammered, "Better
come along, sister! High, wide, and fancy evening ahead!''
All of them tried to tip her, urging one another, "No! Wait!
Here! I got it right here!'' Among them, they gave her
three dollars.