Floud on the
telephone. Too plainly the situation was rapidly getting out of hand,
and yet I hesitated. The Tuttle person under an exterior geniality was
rather abrupt. And, moreover, I now recalled having observed a person
much like him in manner and attire in a certain cinema drama of the
far Wild West. He had been a constable or sheriff in the piece and had
subdued a band of armed border ruffians with only a small pocket
pistol. I thought it as well not to cross him.
When they had drunk, each one again said, "Well! well!"
"You old maverick!" said Cousin Egbert.
"You--dashed--old horned toad!" responded his friend.
"What's the matter with a little snack?"
"Not a thing on earth. My appetite ain't been so powerful craving
since Heck was a pup."
These were their actual words, though it may not be believed. The
Tuttle person now approached his cabman, who had waited beside the
curb.
"Say, Frank," he began, "Ally restorong," and this he supplemented
with a crude but informing pantomime of one eating. Cousin Egbert was
already seated in the cab, and I could do nothing but follow. "Ally
restorong!" commanded our new friend in a louder tone, and the cabman
with an explosion of understanding drove rapidly off.
"It's a genuine wonder to me how you learned the language so quick,"
said Cousin Egbert.
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