Wrenn! as we have commented. He put his head on
one side, rubbed his chin with nice consideration, and
condescended, "What would you suggest?"
"For a party high tea? Why, perhaps consomme and omelet
Bergerac and a salad and a sweet and _cafe diable_. We have a
chef who does French eggs rather remarkably. That would be
simple, but--"
"Yes, that would be very good," gravely granted the patron of
cuisine. "At six; for two."
As he walked away he grinned within. "Gee! I talked to that
omelet Berg' rac like I'd known it all my life!"
Other s'prises for Istra's party he sought. Let's see; suppose
it really were her birthday, wouldn't she like to have a letter
from some important guy? he queried of himself. He'd write
her a make-b'lieve letter from a duke. Which he did.
Purchasing a stamp, he humped over a desk in the common room and
with infinite pains he inked the stamp in imitation of a
postmark and addressed the letter to "Lady Istra Nash, Mouse
Castle, Suffolk."
Some one sat down at the desk opposite him, and he jealously
carried the task upstairs to his room.
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