MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

Western Star, Issue 827, 19 March 1884, Page 4

MISTAKEN IDENTITY.

“ Ah, waitaw,” said a member of the genus dude, seating himself in a fashionable restaurant near the hall, and carefully smoothing his sideban. s over his ears. “ I sav. what the deuce have have you got to eat to-day, you know. Something light, you know r . Never touch w oast sand that sort of thing.”

“Very nice turkey to-day, Mr ;or perhaps you would prefer a snipe, sir. Long Island snipe, shot vesterday, sir,” said the waiter, whisking his napkin over the table, taking up a glass, and then carefully placing it back again. “Ah, snipe. Ynas.” “ Eight away, sir,” said the waiter, turning to go. “ Heah, waitah. I say, don’t be in such a beastly hurry. I don’t think I’ll take any game to-day. Too rich, you understand. Yaas, you —ah—you may bring me a chop.” “ Brace, sir,” asked the waiter. “Bwace ! Who the deuce said anything about a bwace ? A chop—one chop,” said the dude “ Anything more ?” asked the waiter, suddenly straightening up, and omitting to address his customer as sir. “Not that I can—ah- think of,” said the dude, glancing admiringly at himself in a glass across tlu> room. “Wine?” ejaculated the waiter, becoming more rigid and icy every moment. • ,

“No—o—ah—that is, have you any good cider ?” asked the dude. “ Tes,” said the waiter, now frozen stiff, and glancing contemptuously upon his customer. “Well-ah —you may bring me a glass of cider.” “ Don’t sell it that way—only in bottles,” said the waiter. . “Well, then —ah —you needu’t m nd.” “ Any po—po —tatoes ?” hissed the waiter. “Ah—yes, of course—that is, you serve potatoes with your meats.*’ “ Potatoes are—are extra,” almost sobbed the waiter, as h>- th ugh* hat a fo >1 he had been to mistake tiis customer for a swell. “Ah —then you needn't mind bringing the chop. Ta—ta,” and the dude picked up Lis shovel hat and slid through the door, followed by a good round oath from the disgusted French knight of the napkin.