“Did they talk like that out West when you were a boy? What would you say at breakfast?”
“Breakfast was served, or offered up, by the cook. He would say, ‘Come and get it, you sons of bitches, or I’ll throw it away.’ ”
“I must learn that for in the country. Sometimes when we have the British Ambassador and his dull wife for dinner I will teach the footman, who will announce dinner, to say, ‘Come and get it, you son of bitches, or we will throw it away.’ ”
“He’d devaluate,” the Colonel said. “At any rate, it would be an interesting experiment.”
“Tell me something I can say in true American to the pitted one if he comes in. I will just whisper it in his ear as though I were making a rendezvous, as they did in the old days.”
“It would depend on how he looks. If he is very dejected looking, you might whisper to him, ‘Listen, Mac. You hired out to be tough, didn’t you?’ ”
“That’s lovely,” she said and repeated it in a voice she had learned from Ida Lupino. “Can I say it to the Gran Maestro?”
“Sure. Why not. Gran Maestro!”
The Gran Maestro came over and leaned forward attentively.
“Listen, Mac. You hired out to be tough, didn’t you?” the girl hard-worded him.
“I did indeed,” the Gran Maestro said. “Thank you for stating it so exactly.”
“If that one comes in and you wish to speak to him
