Part 5 (1/2)
It was the first time Dotty had ever dined at a public house. A bill of fare was something entirely new to her. She wondered how it happened that the Boston printers knew what the people in that hotel were about to have for dinner.
Mr. Parlin looked with amus.e.m.e.nt at the demure little lady beside him.
Not a sign of curiosity did she betray, except to gaze around her with keen eyes, which saw everything, even to the pattern of the napkins.
Some time she would have questions to ask, but not now.
”And what would you like for dinner, Alice?”
Mr. Parlin said this as they were sipping their soup. Dotty glanced at the small table before them, which offered scarcely anything but salt-cellars and castors, and then at the paper her father held in his hand. She was about to reply that she would wait till the table was ready; but as there was one man seated opposite her, and another standing at the back of her chair, she merely said,--
”I don't know, papa.”
”A-la-mode beef; frica.s.seed chicken; Calcutta curry,” read her mischievous father from the bill, as fast as he could read; ”macaroni; salsify; flummery; sirup of cream. You see it is hard to make a choice, dear. Escaloped oysters; pigeon pie postponed.”
”I'll take some of that, papa,” broke in Dotty.
”What, dear?”
”Some of the pigeon pie 'sponed,” answered Dotty, in a low voice, determined to come to a decision of some sort. It was not likely to make much difference what she should choose, when everything was alike wonderful and strange.
”Pigeon pie postponed,” said Mr. Parlin to the man at the back of Dotty's chair; ”turkey with oysters for me.”
The polite waiter smiled so broadly that he showed two long rows of white teeth. It could not be Dotty who amused him. Her conduct was all that is prim and proper. She sat beside her papa as motionless as a waxen baby, her eyes rolling right and left, as if they were jerked by a secret wire. It certainly could not have been Dotty. Then what was it the man saw which was funny?
”Only one pigeon pie in the house, sir,” said he, trying to look very solemn, ”and if the young lady will be pleased to wait, I'll bring it to her in a few minutes. No such dish on any of the other bills of fare.
A rarity for this special day, sir. Anything else, miss, while you wait?”
Mr. Parlin looked rather surprised. There had been no good reason given for not bringing the pie at once; however, he merely asked Dotty to choose again; and this time she chose ”tomato steak,” at a venture.
There were two gentlemen at the opposite side of the table, and one of them watched Dotty with interest.
”Her mother has taken great pains with her,” he thought; ”she handles her knife and fork very well. Where have I seen that child before?”
While he was still calling to mind the faces of various little girls of his acquaintance, and trying to remember which face belonged to Dotty, the waiter arrived with the ”pigeon pie postponed.” He had chosen the time when most of the people had finished their first course, and the clinking of dishes was not quite so hurried as it had been a little while before. The table at which Mr. Parlin sat was nearly in the centre of the room. As the waiter approached with the pie, the same amused look pa.s.sed over his face once more.
He set the dish upon the table near Mr. Parlin, who proceeded to cut a piece for Miss Dimple. As the knife went into the pie, the crust seemed to move; and lo, ”when the pie was opened,” out flew a pigeon alive and well!
The bird at first hopped about the table in a frightened way, a little blind and dizzy from being shut up in such a dark prison; but a few breaths of fresh air revived him, and he flew merrily around the room, to the surprise and amus.e.m.e.nt of the guests. It was a minute or two before any of them understood what it meant. Then they began to laugh and say they knew why the pie was ”postponed:” it was because the pigeon was not willing to be eaten alive.
It pa.s.sed as a capital joke; but I doubt if Dotty Dimple appreciated it.
She looked at the hollow crust, and then at the purple-crested dove, and thought a hotel dinner was even more peculiar than she had supposed. Did they have ”live pies” every day? How did they bake them without even scorching the pigeons? But she busied herself with her nuts and raisins, and asked no questions.
At four o'clock she went with, her father to see the Public Gardens and other places of interest, and to buy a pair of new gloves. On the Common they met one of the gentlemen who had sat opposite them at dinner. He bowed as they were pa.s.sing, and said, with a smile,--
”Can this be my little friend, Miss Prudy Parlin?”
”It is her younger sister, Alice,” replied her father.
”And I am Major Benjamin Lazelle, of St. Louis,” said the gentleman.