Olympian Nights Part 7

"Sounds rather rich," I observed.

"It would cost you 4,650,000 francs for a half portion at a Paris cafe, if you could get it there--which you can't."

"And what, Memnon," said I, "is the peculiarity of eggs _Midas_?"

"It's nothing but an omelet, sir," he replied; "but it is made of eggs laid by the goose of whom you have probably read in the _Personal Recollections of Jack the Giant-Killer_. They are solid gold."

"Heavens!" I cried. "Solid gold! Great Scott, Memnon, I can't digest a solid gold omelet. What do you think I am--an a.s.say office?"

Memnon grinned until every tooth in his head showed, making his mouth look like the keyboard of a grand piano.

"It is perfectly harmless the way it is prepared in the kitchen, sir,"

he explained. "It isn't an eighteen-karat omelet, as you seem to think. The eggs are solid, but the omelet is not. It is, indeed, only six karats fine. The alloy consists largely of lactopeptine, hydrochloric acid, and various other efficient digestives which render it innocuous to the most delicate digestion."

"Very well, Memnon," I replied, making a wry face, "bring it on. I'll try a little of it, anyhow." I must confess it did not sound inviting, but a guest should never criticise the food that is placed before him.

My politeness was well repaid, for nothing more delicate in the way of an omelet has ever t.i.tillated my palate. There was a slight metallic taste about it at first, but I soon got over that, just as I have got used to English oysters, which, when I eat them, make me feel for a moment as if I had bitten off the end of a bra.s.s door-k.n.o.b; and had I not calculated the cost, I should have asked for a second helping.

Memnon then brought me a platter containing a small object that looked like a Hamburg steak, and a most delicious cup of _cafe au lait_.

"Filet Olympus," he observed, "and coffee direct from the dairy of the G.o.ds."

Both were a joy.

"Never tasted such a steak!" I said, as the delicate morsel actually melted like b.u.t.ter in my mouth.

"No, sir, you never did," Memnon agreed. "It is cut from the steer bred for the sole purpose of supplying Jupiter and his family with tenderloin. We take the calf when it is very young, sir, and surround it with all the luxuries of a bovine existence. It is fed on the most delicate fodder, especially prepared by chemists under the direction of aesculapius. The cattle, instead of toughening their muscles by walking to pasture, are waited upon by cow-boys in livery. A gentle amount of exercise, just enough to keep them in condition, is taken at regular hours every day, and at night they are put to sleep in feather beds and covered with eiderdown quilts at seven o'clock."

"Don't they rebel?" I asked. "I should think a moderately active calf would be hard to manage that way."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CARING FOR THE CALVES]

"Oh, at first a little, but after a while they come to like it, and by the time they are ready for killing they are as tender as humming birds' tongues," said Memnon. "If you take him young enough, you can do almost anything you like with a calf."

It seemed like a marvellous scheme, and far more humane than that of fattening geese for the sale of their livers.

"And this coffee, Memnon? You said it was fresh from the dairy of the G.o.ds. You get your coffee from the dairy?" I asked.

"The breakfast coffee--yes, sir," replied Memnon. "Fresh every morning. You must ask the steward to let you see the _cafe-au-lait_ herd--"

"The what?" I demanded.

"The _cafe-au-lait herd_," repeated Memnon. "A special permit is required to go through the coffee pasture where these cows are fed.

Some one, who had a grudge against Pales, who is in charge of the dairymaids, got into the field one night and sowed a lot of chicory in with the coffee, and the result was that the next season we got the worst coffee from those cows you ever tasted. So they made a rule that no one is allowed to go there any more without a card from the steward."

"You don't mean to say--" I began.

"Yes, I do," said Memnon. "It is true. We pasture our cows on a coffee farm, and, instead of milk, we get this that you are drinking."

"Wonderful idea!" said I.

"It is, indeed," said Memnon; "that is, from your point of view. From ours, it does not seem so strange. We are used to marvels here, sir,"

he continued. "Would you care for anything more, sir?"

"No, Memnon," said I. "I have fared sumptuously--my--ah--my appet.i.te is somewhat taken away by all these tremendous things."

"I will have an appet.i.te up for you, if you wish," he replied, simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

"No, thank you," said I. "I think I'll wait until I am acclimated. I never eat heavily for the first twenty-four hours when I am in a strange place."

And with this I went to the door, feeling, I must confess, a trifle ill. The steak and coffee were all right, but there was a suggestion of pain in my right side. I could not make up my mind if it were the six hundred melons or whether a nugget from the omelet had got caught in my vermiform appendix.

At any rate, I didn't wish to eat again just then.

At the door the sedan-chair and the two little blackamoors were awaiting me.

"We have orders to take you to the Zoo, sah," said Sambo.

"All right, Sambo," said I. "I'm all ready. A little air will do me good."

And we moved along.

I forgot to mention that, as he closed the chair door upon me, Memnon handed me back the silver dollar I had given him.

"What is this, Memnon?" said I.

"The dollar you wished me to keep for you, sir," he replied.

"But I intended it for you," said I.

His face flushed.

"I am just as much obliged, sir, but, really, I couldn't, you know.

We don't take tips in Olympus, sir."

"Indeed?" said I. "Well--I'm sorry to have offended you, Memnon. I meant it all right. Why didn't you tell me when I gave it you?"

"I should have given you a check for it, sir. I supposed you didn't wish to carry anything so heavy about with you."

"Ah!" said I, replacing the dollar in my pocket. "Thank you for your care of it, Memnon. No offence, I hope?"

"None at all, sir," he replied, again showing his wonderful ivory teeth. "I don't take offence at anything so trifling. Had you handed me a billion dollars, I should have declined to wait on you."

And he bowed me away in a fashion which made me feel keenly the narrowness of my escape.

VII