THE BATTALION.
11
Mrs. Courtenay—If they keep beer at these places, it’s
very refreshing- and very restorative.
Grace—I thoug-ht that was only for invalids.
Mr. Preston—Bob Pritchard is a sad invalid. I order
some for his health.
Mr. Pritchard—Thank you. Porter is my tipple.
Waiter bring- a sample of everything- g-ood you’ve g-ot.
Miss Euphemia—How long-, waiter, before our break
fast will be ready?
Waiter—’Specks you hab to wate tell hour frum now,
mahm.
Mr. Pritchard—Good heavens! Well die.
Grace—Oh, Cousin Robert, I’m so sorry for you! I do
believe you are hungrier than anybody here.
Mr. Pritchard—I am.
Mrs Courtenay—What are we to do meantime? We
really will perish with impatience if we wait here. It
would be too bad to have to hear-and-and-smell the prep
arations, while we sit starving-.
Miss Euphemia—Oh, do let’s g-o in the surf! It will
be delightful, and we’ll feel so refreshed and invig-orated!
Our breakfast will be twice as enjoyable!
Miss Julia (to Mrs. Courtenay)—What do you say,
Cousin Livy? I hardly see what better we could do.
Mrs. Courtenay—You are rig-ht, Julia. Well, what is
the vote, of the party? Euphemia is enthusiastically for it.
Julia agrees. What do you say, Grace?
Grace—Me, too!
Mrs. Courtenay (laughing)—Delicious grammar! What
say you, gentlemen?