I still had a little German left, even after that. So I ordered an
omelette also.

"Tell him a savoury one," said B., "or he will be bringing us
something full of hot jam and chocolate-creams. You know their
style."

"Oh, yes," I answered. "Of course. Yes. Let me see. What is the
German for savoury?"

"Savoury?" mused B. "Oh! ah! hum! Bothered if I know! Confound
the thing--I can't think of it!"

I could not think of it either. As a matter of fact, I never knew
it. We tried the man with French. We said:

"Une omelette aux fines herbes."

As he did not appear to understand that, we gave it him in bad
English. We twisted and turned the unfortunate word "savoury" into
sounds so quaint, so sad, so unearthly, that you would have thought
they might have touched the heart of a savage. This stoical Teuton,
however, remained unmoved. Then we tried pantomime.

Pantomime is to language what marmalade, according to the label on
the pot, is to butter, "an excellent (occasional) substitute." But
its powers as an interpreter of thought are limited. At least, in
real life they are so. As regards a ballet, it is difficult to say
what is not explainable by pantomime. I have seen the bad man in a
ballet convey to the premiere danseuse by a subtle movement of the