"No, I expected no one." This in answer to a peculiar lifting of the
eyebrows and slight wave of his hand as he drew out a chair in an
unoccupied kiosk commanding a view of the grounds. Then, in rather a
positive tone, I added:
"Send me a waiter to take my order--orders for _one_, remember." I
wanted to put a stop to his insinuations at once. Nothing is so annoying
when one's hair is growing gray as being misunderstood--especially
by a waiter.
Affairs overhead now took a serious turn. The clouds evidently
disapproving of the hilarious goings-on of the sun--poking its head out
just as the cloud was raining its prettiest--had, in retaliation,
stopped up all the holes the sun could peer through, and had started in
to rain harder than ever. The waiters caught the angry frown on the
cloud's face, and took it at its spoken word--it had begun to thunder
again--and began piling up the chairs to protect their seats, covering
up the serving-tables, and getting every perishable article under
shelter.
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