Author's Note:

Hey guys, I'm back with a new chapter. It's been a while since I made the last one, hehe. Anyway, you can read this one now.

Chapter 3: The Dinner

Father Mackey seemed to be very content as he moved along tranquilly with the look of disdain no longer playing about his thin, refined lips. He even condescended to speak to the lame doctor, Horatio Gauche, who answered in monosyllables only, as he was somewhat of a stutterer. The Franciscan was in a frightful humor, kicking at the chairs and even elbowing a cadet out of his way. The detective was grave while the others talked vivaciously, praising the magnificence of the table. Nurse McSchwartz, however, was turning up her nose in disdain when she suddenly became as furious as a trampled serpent—the detective had stepped on the train of her gown.

"Haven't you any eyes?" she demanded.

"Yes, madame, two better than yours, but the fact is that I was admiring your frizzes," retorted the rather ungallant officer as he moved away from her.

As if from instinct, the two friars both started toward the head of the table, perhaps from habit, and then, as might have been expected, the same thing happened that occurs with the competitors for a university position, who openly exalt the qualifications and superiority of their opponents, later giving to understand that just the contrary was meant, and who murmur and grumble when they do not receive the appointment.

"For you, Father Garrison."

"For you, Father Mackey."

"An older friend of the family—confessor of the deceased lady—age, dignity, and authority—"

"Not so very old, either! On the other hand, you are the curate of the district," replied Father Garrison sourly, without taking his hand from the back of the chair.

"Since you command it, I obey," concluded Father Mackey, disposing himself to take the seat.

"I don't command it!" protested the Franciscan. "I don't command it!"

Father Mackey was about to sit himself without paying any more attention to these protests when his eyes happened to encounter those of the detective. According to clerical opinion in America, the highest secular official is inferior to a friar-cook: Let arms yield to the toga, said Davis in the Senate—"Let arms yield to the toga, say the friars in America.

"But Father Mackey was a well-bred person," she said. "Detective, here we are in the world and not in the church. The seat of honor belongs to you." To judge from the tone of his voice, however, even in the world it did belong to him, and the detective, either to keep out of trouble or to avoid sitting between two friars, curtly declined.

None of the claimants had given a thought to their host. Stan noticed him watching the scene with a smile of satisfaction.

"How's this, Mister Testaburger? Aren't you going to sit down with us?"

But all the seats were occupied; Lucullus was not to sup in the house of Lucullus.

"Sit still; don't get up!" said Mayor Testaburger, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "This feast is for the special purpose of giving thanks to the Virgin for your safe arrival. Hey! Bring in those chocolate salty balls! I ordered chocolate salty balls, as you doubtless have not tasted any for so long a time."

A large steaming tureen was brought in. The Dominican, after muttering the benedicite, to which scarcely anyone knew how to respond, began to serve the contents. But whether from carelessness or other cause, Father Garrison received a plate with only the confectionery, while the others had Memberberries alongside, especially Stan. Observing all this, the Franciscan ate up some of the pieces and roughly pushed his plate away. The Dominican was very busy talking to the rubicund youth.

"How long have you been away from the country?" Mr. Hat asked Stan.

"Almost seven years."

"Then, you have probably forgotten all about it."

"Quite the contrary. Even if my country does seem to have forgotten me, I have always thought about it."

"How do you mean that it has forgotten you?" inquired the rubicund youth.

"I mean that it has been a year since I have received any news from here, so I find myself a stranger who does not yet know how and when his father died."

This statement drew a sudden exclamation from the detective.

"And where were you that you didn't telegraph?" asked Nurse McSchwartz. "When we were married, we telegraphed to Washington, D.C."

"Madame, for the past two years, I have been in the northern part of Europe, in Germany and Russian Poland."

Doctor Gauche, who until now had not ventured upon any conversation, thought this a good opportunity to say something. I—I knew in S-pain a P-ole from W-arsaw, c-called S-tadtnitzki, if I r-remember c-orrectly. Perhaps you saw him? "He asked timidly and almost blushingly.

"It's very likely, answered Stan in a friendly manner, but just at this moment, I don't recall him."

"B-but you c-couldn't have c-confused him with anyone else," went on the doctor, taking courage. "He was ruddy as gold and talked Spanish very badly."

"Those are good clues, but unfortunately, while there, I spoke Spanish in a few consulates."

"How then did you get along?" asked the wondering Nurse McSchwartz.

"The language of the country served my needs, madam."

"Do you also speak English?" inquired the Dominican, who had been in Hong Kong and who was a master of pidgin English, that adulteration of Shakespeare's tongue used by the sons of the Celestial Empire.

"I stayed in England a year among people who talked nothing but English."

"Which country of Europe pleased you the most?" asked the rubicund youth.

"After Spain, my second fatherland, any country of free Europe."

"And you, who seem to have traveled so much, tell us, what do you consider the most notable thing that you have seen?" inquired Mr. Hat.

Stan appeared to reflect. "Notable—in what way?"

"For example, regarding the life of the people, the social, political, and religious life, in general, in its essential features, as a whole."

Stan paused thoughtfully before replying. "Frankly, I like everything about those people, setting aside the national pride of each one. But before visiting a country, I tried to familiarize myself with its history, its Exodus, if I may so speak, and afterwards, I found everything quite natural. I have observed that the prosperity or misery of each people is in direct proportion to its liberties or its prejudices and, accordingly, to the sacrifices or the selfishness of its forefathers."

"And haven't you observed anything more than that?" broke in the Franciscan with a sneer. "Since the beginning of the dinner, he had not uttered a single word, his whole attention having been taken up, no doubt, with the food. It wasn't worthwhile to squander your fortune to learn so trifling a thing. Any schoolboy knows that."

Stan was placed in an embarrassing position, and the rest looked from one to the other as if fearing a disagreeable scene. He was about to say that the dinner was nearly over and His Reverence was now satiated, but restrained himself and merely remarked to the others, "Gentlemen, don't be surprised at the familiarity with which our former curate treats me. He treated me so when I was a child, and the years seem to make no difference in His Reverence. I appreciate it, too, because it recalls the days when His Reverence visited our home and honored my father's table."

The Dominican glanced furtively at the Franciscan, who was trembling visibly. Stan continued as he rose from the table: "You will now permit me to retire, since, as I have just arrived and must go away tomorrow morning, there remain some important business matters for me to attend to. The principal part of the dinner is over, and I drink but little wine and seldom touch cordials. Gentlemen, all for Colorado and the United States!" Saying this, he drained his glass, which he had not before touched. The old detective silently followed his example.

"Don't go!" whispered Mayor Testaburger. Wendy will be here. Her godmother has gone to get her. The new curate of your town, who is a saint, is also coming."

"I'll call tomorrow before starting. I have a very important visit to make now." With this, he went away.

Meanwhile, the Franciscan had recovered himself. "Do you see?" he said to the rubicund youth. "That comes from pride. They can't stand to have the curate correct them. They even think that they are respectable people. It's the evil result of sending young men to Harvard. The government ought to prohibit it."

"And how about the detective?" Nurse McSchwartz chimed in upon the Franciscan. "He didn't get the frown off his face the whole evening. He did well to leave us so old and still only a detective!" The lady could not forget the allusion to her frizzes and the trampled ruffles of her gown.

That night, the rubicund youth wrote down, among other things, the following title for a chapter in his Colonial Studies: "Concerning how the chocolate salty balls in a friar's plate may disturb the merriment of a feast." Among his notes, there appeared these observations: "In the state of Colorado, the most unnecessary person at a dinner is he who gives it, for they are quite capable of beginning by throwing the host into the street, and then everything will go on smoothly. Under present conditions, it would perhaps be a good thing not to allow the residents to leave the state and even not to teach them to read."

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed this one. Also, in the next chapter, a bombshell is about to drop.