is an upper-class thing!"
one whispered to the other.
Both of them sighed, in a refreshed way.
Apparently the burden of years of middle-classness, if not worse, had suddenly
been lifted.
The dogs were so delighted to be on the table
that they frolicked for a moment, rolling around, mewling, and even briefly
simulating copulation.
Fortunately for everyone's digestion, Wogers
and Gogers were long past consummating anything. After a brief hump they shook
themselves and stared myopically around the table. Then they trotted across the
table as confidently as two black imps.
Just as the congressman from Michigan belatedly reached for his knife and fork,
Wogers and Gogers spotted his chicken and made a beeline for it. The
congressman happened to glance down, to see what he was eating, and saw a sight
that would have unnerved Douglas MacArthur.
Wogers and Gogers were by this time ripping
their way through a cold but toothsome chicken breast. Thanks to certain
genetic drawbacks, such as blunt noses and tiny teeth, they were making a
sloppy job of it. Both of them had their front teeth in the congressman's plate
and were slinging drippings this way and that as they tried to tear a few
filaments of chicken loose from the bone.
When I described the scene to Boog, the next
day, he rolled on the floor and laughed until froth came out of his mouth.
"That gutless little piss-ant," he
said. "I hope he swallert his tongue. He can talk more and say less than
any man I ever met, unless it was Everett Dirksen.”
Jake Ponsonby was making an effort to keep
himself awake. He was doodling what appeared to be, Latin hexameters on his
shirt cuff".
Old Cotswinkle, meanwhile, had suddenly
discovered that there was a girl sitting next to him—namely Cindy— and he was staring fixedly at her bosom.
Lilah Landry was employing her Georgia gift of gab for the benefit of an elderly
Britisher who seemed to have recently unplugged his life support system. He was
either dead or pretending to be, a fact that made no difference to Lilah. She
continued to talk rapidly and smile dizzily in his direction.
For perhaps a minute the party seemed to lose
what little motion it had. Few conversed, no one got up, the servants held themselves in abeyance, and the water in the finger bowls
slowly grew cold. At the head of the table Senator Penrose was talking quietly
about Mr. Jefferson—to hear him one would have thought that Mr. Jefferson had
been to dinner the night before.
The congressman from Michigan recognized at once that his food was a lost
cause, and attempted to put a dignified face on the matter.
Unfortunately, the congressman didn't have a
dignified face. He had a weak, selfish face, on which the only thing writ large
was self-esteem. Though bug-eyed with embarrassment, he had survived fourteen
terms in the House, so when Cunny Cotswinkle glanced over to see if the pugs
had finished picking his chicken breast he actually smiled—a shit-eating grin
to end all shit-eating grins.
"I love dawgs," he said.
Chapter XI
When the pugs finished mangling the chicken
breast they trotted back down the table and had another little frolic, this one
directly in front of me. Also directly in front of me were two very fine
Charles II casters. I had been admiring them all evening.
The pugs got up, snuffling from their
exertions, and one of them started to lift a leg on the nearest caster.
No one was paying the slightest attention
either to the pugs or me, so I reached over and
one whispered to the other.
Both of them sighed, in a refreshed way.
Apparently the burden of years of middle-classness, if not worse, had suddenly
been lifted.
The dogs were so delighted to be on the table
that they frolicked for a moment, rolling around, mewling, and even briefly
simulating copulation.
Fortunately for everyone's digestion, Wogers
and Gogers were long past consummating anything. After a brief hump they shook
themselves and stared myopically around the table. Then they trotted across the
table as confidently as two black imps.
Just as the congressman from Michigan belatedly reached for his knife and fork,
Wogers and Gogers spotted his chicken and made a beeline for it. The
congressman happened to glance down, to see what he was eating, and saw a sight
that would have unnerved Douglas MacArthur.
Wogers and Gogers were by this time ripping
their way through a cold but toothsome chicken breast. Thanks to certain
genetic drawbacks, such as blunt noses and tiny teeth, they were making a
sloppy job of it. Both of them had their front teeth in the congressman's plate
and were slinging drippings this way and that as they tried to tear a few
filaments of chicken loose from the bone.
When I described the scene to Boog, the next
day, he rolled on the floor and laughed until froth came out of his mouth.
"That gutless little piss-ant," he
said. "I hope he swallert his tongue. He can talk more and say less than
any man I ever met, unless it was Everett Dirksen.”
Jake Ponsonby was making an effort to keep
himself awake. He was doodling what appeared to be, Latin hexameters on his
shirt cuff".
Old Cotswinkle, meanwhile, had suddenly
discovered that there was a girl sitting next to him—namely Cindy— and he was staring fixedly at her bosom.
Lilah Landry was employing her Georgia gift of gab for the benefit of an elderly
Britisher who seemed to have recently unplugged his life support system. He was
either dead or pretending to be, a fact that made no difference to Lilah. She
continued to talk rapidly and smile dizzily in his direction.
For perhaps a minute the party seemed to lose
what little motion it had. Few conversed, no one got up, the servants held themselves in abeyance, and the water in the finger bowls
slowly grew cold. At the head of the table Senator Penrose was talking quietly
about Mr. Jefferson—to hear him one would have thought that Mr. Jefferson had
been to dinner the night before.
The congressman from Michigan recognized at once that his food was a lost
cause, and attempted to put a dignified face on the matter.
Unfortunately, the congressman didn't have a
dignified face. He had a weak, selfish face, on which the only thing writ large
was self-esteem. Though bug-eyed with embarrassment, he had survived fourteen
terms in the House, so when Cunny Cotswinkle glanced over to see if the pugs
had finished picking his chicken breast he actually smiled—a shit-eating grin
to end all shit-eating grins.
"I love dawgs," he said.
Chapter XI
When the pugs finished mangling the chicken
breast they trotted back down the table and had another little frolic, this one
directly in front of me. Also directly in front of me were two very fine
Charles II casters. I had been admiring them all evening.
The pugs got up, snuffling from their
exertions, and one of them started to lift a leg on the nearest caster.
No one was paying the slightest attention
either to the pugs or me, so I reached over and
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