Left to ourselves, we discussed our breakfast and the waiters, the only French people we could see from where we sat, and expressed our annoyance, which was great, at being offered tooth-picks.

I was so hungry that it was only when I asked for a third large roll that I noticed momma regarding me with mild disapproval.
"I fear," she said with a little sigh, "that you are thinking very little of what is past and gone, love." "Momma," I replied, "don't spoil my breakfast." When momma can throw an emotional chill over anything, I never knew her to refrain.

"I _should_ like that _garcon_ to bring me some more bread," I continued.
Momma sighed even more deeply.

"You may have part of mine," she replied, breaking it with a gesture that said such callousness she could not understand.

Her manner for the next few minutes expressed distinctly that she, at least, meant to do her duty by Arthur.
Presently from the other side of poppa came the words, "_Not_ Wick of Chicago!" "I guess I can't deny it," said poppa.
"Senator Wick ?" Poppa lowered his voice.