'' 'Why?' I asked. 'That was the code,' Farrell
explained. 'They used to have a speciality in sea-urchins, straight
from the Mediterranean. You rubbed a soupsong of garlic into them
with three drops of paprika. . . . Now what do you say to
sea-urchins?'
"'Nothing, as a rule,' said I. 'Safer with oysters, isn't it?
They don't explode.' I dropped this out just to try its effect on the
waiter, and he blanched. One or two of our _convives_ began to
clear.
"Farrell ordered two dozen of oysters, to start with, and sent a
runner out for--no, Otty, I won't say it again--for two bottles of
Perrier-Jouet; _two_ bottles and '96, mark you. On hearing this
command about a dozen _habitues_ of the 'Catalafina' arose hastily,
drained their glasses and vanished.
"Farrell perceived it not. He had picked up the card again and was
ordering some infernal broth made of mussels and I-don't-know-what.
'What do you say to follow?' he asked me.
"'Something light,' I suggested. 'Liver of blaspheming Jew, for
choice: it sounds like another speciality of this kitchen.
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