"Got any tempus fugit?"

"I reckon not, sir."

"Got any soiree dansante?"

"No, sir."

The waiter was edging off.

"Got any sine die?"

"We hain't, sir."

"Got any e pluribus unum?"

The waiter's face showed some sign of intelligence.

"Seems like I heard ob dat, sir," and he rushed out to the kitchen,
only to return empty-handed.

"We ain't got none, sir," he said, in a tone of disappointment.

"Got any mal de mer?"

"N-- no, sir."

The waiter was going to pieces fast.

The gentleman from the West, was as serene as a May morning.