Auguste, plump and oily, his napkin over his arm, drew out his
chair (it was always tipped back in reserve until he arrived),
laid another plate and accessories for his guest, and then bent
his head in attention until Peter indicated the particular brand
of Bordeaux--the color of the wax sealing its top was the only
label--with which he proposed to entertain his friend.
All this time Jack had been on the point of bursting. Once he had
slipped his hand into his pocket for Breen's letter, in the belief
that the best way to get the most enjoyment out of the incident of
his visit and the result,--for it was still a joke to Jack,--would
be to lay the half sheet on Peter's plate and watch the old
fellow's face as he read it. Then he decided to lead gradually up
to it, concealing the best part of the story--the prospectus and
how it was to be braced--until the last.
But the boy could not wait; so, after he had told Peter about
Ruth,--and that took ten minutes, try as hard as he could to
shorten the telling,--during which the stuffed peppers were in
evidence,--and after Peter had replied with certain messages to
Ruth,--during which the spaghetti was served sizzling hot, with
entrancing frazzlings of brown cheese clinging to the edges of the
tin plate--the Chief Assistant squared his elbows and plunged
head-foremost into the subject.
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