For he knew that unless by magic a new chef and a waiter or two could be got from the Palaver, all hope was lost.
But the guests still knew nothing of his fears.

Dr.Boomer was eating his oysters as a Nigerian hippo might eat up the crew of a doolie, in great mouthfuls, and commenting as he did so upon the luxuriousness of modern life.
And in the pause that followed the oysters he illustrated for the Duke with two pieces of bread the essential difference in structure between the Mexican _pueblo_ and the tribal house of the Navajos, and lest the Duke should confound either or both of them with the adobe hut of the Bimbaweh tribes he showed the difference at once with a couple of olives.
By this time, of course, the delay in the service was getting noticeable.

Mr.Fyshe was directing angry glances towards the door, looking for the reappearance of the waiter, and growling an apology to his guests.

But the president waved the apology aside.
"In my college days," he said, "I should have considered a plate of oysters an ample meal.

I should have asked for nothing more.