"Well here we all are," said Max, when little glasses of cognac stood before them.
"Which nobody can deny," Grover assented, and got an exuberant crack on the back.
"The American intelligentsia, what!" Max added.
"I wouldn't go so far—" Grover began.
"Have another drink and you will," Max interrupted. "Farther!"
"This is an expensive joint," protested Ponderby. "Have a heart."
"Thank you," said Max, "I will, having had four already, to wit, two blonds—wash blonds—a brunette—and a Halgerian. That's why you go to college, to get to be a bachelor of hearts. When a Halgerian, though never so black, uses 'Oubigant's Some Flowers—well, one touch of nature—ain't it the truth!"
A bleary-eyed beggar was holding out his hat. "How's your mother?" Max politely inquired. As he did so he caught sight of a plump, full-blown, weary cocotte who had arrived at the table behind him.
"Parlez-vous français?" Max asked her.
The woman glanced up, her powder puff arrested in mid-air.
"Parfaitement, Monsieur," she replied in husky but incisive tones, "Only not with monkeys," she added in English.
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try again," said Max, pounding philosophically on the table for the waiter.
