care, I don't. It'll be time enough for me to make a fool of myself when
somebody offers to pay me for it. Give 'em their dinner! Sharp!"

"It's jes' a mons'ous outrage," growled the offended waiter, as he
stalked away; but he took good care to obey his orders, for he had a
consciousness that the eyes of his "master" were on him. He could hardly
have guessed how completely his errand had been understood by the six
boys, or how closely Ford Foster had "hit it." Said he, in reply to an
angry remark from Dab Kinzer,--

"It's all humbug. They run this concern to make money, and they want
some of ours. Mr. Marigold'll be sent right back with our soup."

He was right; but, before they had eaten their way to the pie and
pudding, Ford was dignifiedly informed,--

"If you please, sah, my name isn't Mr. Marigold, sah, it is Mr.
Bellerington, sah; an' my first name isn't Coffee, sah, it's Augustus."

"You don't say," replied Ford: "well, Augustus, don't forget the little
remark I made about pie and the other things."

It was a capital dinner; and Ford was proud of it, for he had picked out
every item of it, from the soup to the macaroons. Dick Lee had enjoyed
it hugely, after he began to feel that his first social victory had been
fairly won for him. Still, he had doubts in his own mind as to whether
he would ever dare such another undertaking with less than five white
boys along to "see him through."

Joe and Fuz ate well; but their spirits were manifestly low, for they