Tom heard one pretty girl
planning a luncheon here next week; he heard a group of men talking
about entertaining a visiting delegation of bankers up here at Boswell's
out of the heat.
Everywhere people were asking, "Why haven't we known about this?" and to
one and another Arthur Haskins, in Tom's hearing, was saying such things
as, "Just opened up. Jolly place, isn't it? Going to be the most popular
anywhere around. Deserves it, too."
"But is the table as good every day as it is to-night?" one skeptic
inquired.
"Better." Haskins might have been an owner of the place, he was so
prompt with his flattering statements. "First time I came up was with a
crowd of fellows. We took them unawares, and they served a supper that
made us smile all over. Their cook can't be beaten--and the service is
first-class."
It was over at last. But it was at a late hour that the first cars began
to roll away down the hill, and later still when the last got under way.
They carried a gay company, and the final rockets, spurting from West
Peak, flashed before the faces of people in the high good humour of
those who have been successfully and uniquely entertained.
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