waiter entered to lay the table. Conversation of a private nature was naturally[Pg 80] suspended forthwith, and the members of the A. B. C. Company sat in silence, hungrily eyeing the board. [Pg 80] "Thee mayst lay a place for me, friend," said the Quaker to the waiter, as he watched the preparations with bland enjoyment. "Did you order any drinks?" asked Banborough of the tragedian. "No, Bishop, I didn't," replied the latter. "As you're paying for the show, I thought I'd leave you that privilege." "Order six soda lemonades," said Banborough to the waiter, adding behind his hand to Spotts, as he noted the gloom spread over the company: "No liquor to-night. We need to keep our wits about us." "Stop, friend," came the unctuous tones of the Quaker, arresting the waiter as he was about to leave the room. "For myself I never take strong waters, but thee forgettest, Bishop," giving Banborough the title he had heard the others use, "thee forgettest that our revered friend," with a wave of his hand in Mrs. Mackintosh's direction, "hath an affection[Pg 81] of her lungs which requires her to take a brandy and soda for her body's good before meals. Let it be brought at once!" [Pg 81] "Why, you impudent upstart!" gasped the old lady, as the door closed behind the waiter. "How dare you say I drink!" "Shoo!" returned Friend Othniel, lapsing from the Quaker into the tramp; "I ain't orderin' it for youse. I've a throat like a Sahara." Then turning to the other members of the company, he continued: "Now seein' as we've a moment alone, and bein' all criminals, I votes we has a session o' the committee o' ways and means." A chorus of indignant protest arose from every side. "Youse ain't criminals, eh? What's liberatin' prisoners, an' stealin' two hosses an' a kerridge, an' the driver's hat an' coat, with a five-dollar bill in the pocket?" Banborough rose to deny vehemently the last assertion.
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