"Please!" wails Doris. "Harold! Stop him, can't you?"

And say, can you see Sappy Westlake stoppin' anything? Specially such
a runnin' stream as this here now Cyril. But he comes to life for one
faint effort.

"I say, you know," he starts in, "perhaps you'd best say no more about
it, Snee."

"As you like, sir," says Cyril. "Only, I don't wish my feelings
considered. Not in the least. If you care to send back the salad I
will gladly--"

Westy glances appealin' towards me.

"Torchy," says he, "couldn't you--"

Couldn't I, though! Say, I'd just been yearnin' to crash into this
affair for the last five minutes. I'd remembered Cyril. At least, I
thought I had. And I proceeds to rap for order with a table-knife.

"Excuse me, Mr. Snee," says I, "but you ain't been called on for a
monologue. You can print the whole story of how kitchen neutrality was
violated, issue a yellow book, if you like; but just for the minute try
to forget that assault with the roast and see if you can remember ever
havin' met me before. Can you?"

Don't seem to faze Cyril a bit. He takes a good look at me and then
shakes his head.