"It's like Paris—only more so," his companion rejoined.
"I suppose it's the French waiters," said the first speaker. "Why don't they have French waiters in London?"
"Fancy a French waiter at a club," said his friend.
The young Englishman stared a little, as if he could not fancy it. "In Paris I'm very apt to dine at a place where there's an English waiter. Don't you know what's-his-name's, close to the thingumbob? They always set an English waiter at me. I suppose they think I can't speak French."
"Well, you can't." And the elder of the young Englishmen unfolded his napkin.
His companion took no notice whatever of this declaration. "I say," he resumed, in a moment, "I suppose we must learn to speak American. I suppose we must take lessons."
"I can't understand them," said the clever man.
"What the deuce is he saying?" asked his comrade, appealing from the French waiter.
"He is recommending some soft-shell crabs," said the clever man.
And so, in desultory observation of the idiosyncrasies of the new society in which they found themselves, the young Englishmen proceeded to
