The one who orders best, wins. We'll
call the game--" She frowned thoughtfully.
"Call it 'Vittles,'" O'Reilly suggested.
"'Vittles' it is. Maybe it will give us an appetite for supper.
Leslie, you begin. Come now, hand your hat to the hat-boy, then
follow the head waiter. This way, sir. Table for one? Very good,
sir. Here's a cool one, in front of the electric fan. We have an
exceptional selection of cold dishes to-day, sir. Perhaps you
would like a nice halibut salad--"
"No halibut salad," Branch answered, striving valiantly to enter
into the spirit of Norine's pretending. "I had it for breakfast.
And say, turn off that fan; I'm just back from Cuba. Now then, you
may bring me some oysters--"
"Oysters are out of season," O'Reilly murmured, politely, "but our
clams are very fine."
"Some oysters," Branch insisted, stubbornly. "After that, a cup of
chicken broth, a grilled sweetbread, and toast Melba."
Joe Judson put an abrupt end to the invalid's meal by hurling a
clod at him, crying: "You're in Delmonico's, not in Battle Creek.
Let somebody order who knows how. We'll have steak and onions all
around."
"I want strawberries!" Norine cried. "They're ripe now.
Strawberries and cream--Oh-h! Think of it!"
There was a tense silence, which O'Reilly broke by saying, "I
guess 'Vittles' isn't a very good game, after all.
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