The platters were as clean as
if they had been washed; crumbs of bread, potato parings, nutshells, and
bits of cake littered the table; coffee and ice-cream stains and
spots of congealed gravy marked the position of each plate. It was
a devastation, a pillage; the table presented the appearance of an
abandoned battlefield.
"Ouf," cried Mrs. Sieppe, pushing back, "I haf eatun und eatun, ach,
Gott, how I haf eatun!"
"Ah, dot kaf's het," murmured her husband, passing his tongue over his
lips.
The facetious waiter had disappeared. He and Maria Macapa foregathered
in the kitchen. They drew up to the washboard of the sink, feasting off
the remnants of the supper, slices of goose, the remains of the lobster
salad, and half a bottle of champagne. They were obliged to drink the
latter from teacups.
"Here's how," said the waiter gallantly, as he raised his tea-cup,
bowing to Maria across the sink. "Hark," he added, "they're singing
inside."
The company had left the table and had assembled about the melodeon,
where Selina was seated. At first they attempted some of the popular
songs of the day, but were obliged to give over as none of them knew any
of the words beyond the first line of the chorus.
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