"Oh, now, Ralph, you've eaten bombettas with me at worse hours than that!"
"Bombettas? I don't quite—" Hartley put in.
"Oh, ice cream and squish and stuff, in St. Mark's Square in Venice."
"Ah, yes, Palazzo San Marco!"
"It makes me homesick to think of it, Ralph. Not homesick, just the opposite. Is the dwarf who sells tuberoses still there? I must be honest. You never did eat the bombettas; I always ate mine and yours, too. Go on about this afternoon. Did you get any tea?"
"I got warm water and a cheesecloth bag to dip into it, and some cakes like sea anemones stuffed with sawdust."
"Tck, tck!" Hartley looked sympathetic. "Too bad you didn't know about Come On Inn. They serve a very dainty afternoon tea with waffles, and it's run by two very lovely girls, the Misses Fosby. In fact one of them, Miss Hazel, is going to be Josephine in the benefit 'Pinafore' we're rehearsing for the hospital. A very sweet voice. I happen to have seen quite a little of her lately, as I have the honor of being—h'mm—Rafe Rackstraw. H'm!
He beat time with a fork from which a stalk of asparagus dangled.
