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Show 152 All we want is partridge for our breakfast, A champagne fountain sprinkling at our feet, We'd like Pierpont Morgan waiting on our table, Yes, and Sousa's band a-playing while we eat. Caribou and I nearly keeled off our chairs. The waiter stood there a minute, his mouth open, and then fled to the kitchen. He hurried back almost immediately with the champagne, pouring it with great flourish, and asked apologetically if roast duck would do instead of partridge. "I suppose it will have to," Tip sighed. A few minutes later the maitre d' scurried over. "Mademoiselle, Messieurs," he said, bowing low, "my apologies for Pierpont Morgan, but"-he motioned toward the door-"Sousa's band." The chamber orchestra filed in, its members looking as if they had dressed for a fire. They struck up Sousa's "Washington Post," which livened up that dining room. And for that matter, the entire hotel. We had ourselves a real spree at the Fairview Hotel. In fact, Caribou and I almost missed the ice breaking up because we were steaming in the Turkish baths. Luckily Tip came by in her furs and pounded on the door. And we all made it down to the river in time. |
