"I don't recall ordering champagne," the Old Man said.
"It's for Mrs. Howell and Major Frade," the proprietor said. "They, at least, appreciate a nice glass of wine."
"Major Frade also expects a serviceman's discount."
"Tonight the servicema
n's discount, one hundred percent, applies to him and any of his lady guests. All others, of course, either pay or wash dishes."
"If I have to pay, I will have a glass of water and some rolls and butter."
"With the greatest of pleasure," the proprietor said. "I will feed the pore Lafayette au beurre noir I had prepared for you to the cats in the alley."
"If you prepared it, it's probably chat Lafayette au beurre noir."
"It wouldn't matter if it was; you couldn't tell the difference," the propri-etor said. "I will leave you now, closing the curtain, so my paying customers will not see what I have hidden in the back room."
"Thank you," Clete said, raising his glass.
"Not at all," the proprietor said. "My mother always taught me to be kind to the ill-bred, especially those on the edge of senility."
"I told your father he was making a terrible mistake when he allowed you to wear shoes and told me he was going to try to teach you to read and write," the Old Man said.
"Bon appetit!" the proprietor said, and left them.
"He's not his father, of course," the Old Man said, "but he does know food."
A waiter appeared with an enormous silver bucket full of iced oysters, put on a heavy canvas glove, and began to shuck them.
"Is everyone having oysters?" he asked.
"Of course," the Old Man answered.
The Old Man waved them into chairs, sat down himself, and from an array of condiments began to concoct a sauce of ketchup, lemon juice, horseradish, and Tabasco. (Tabasco is manufactured on Avery Island, Louisiana, by the McIlhenny family. The McIlhenny who served with the First Marine Division on Guadalcanal ultimately became president of the company, and retired from the Marine Corps Reserve as a Brigadier General. On his death in 1994, he left a substan-tial portion of his fortune to the Marine Academy, a Marine Corps-connected boarding school for boys.)
"I saw him on the 'Canal, did I ever tell you?" Clete said.
"You saw who on Guadalcanal?"
"Ed McIlhenny. He was a lieutenant. Platoon leader."
"He's back."
"Is he all right?" Clete asked quickly, concern in his voice. The return of a Marine to the United States from Guadalcanal more often than not meant that he had suffered a wound too serious to be treated in the Pacific.
"According to his father, as fit as a fiddle, and as proud as a peacock about being promoted to captain. His father asked about you, by the way."
"I hope you told him they made me a major; that'll take the wind out of Ed's sails."
"I did, in fact, mention it in passing," the Old Man said. "That took some of the wind out of his father's sails, too."
He gave the cocktail sauce a final, satisfied stir with a spoon, then pushed the bowl to the center of the table. Clete dipped an oyster in it and ate it with satisfaction.
"How do they eat their oysters in Argentina?" the Old Man asked.
"They're not big on seafood down there," Clete said.
"The reason I asked is that once I prepared a sauce like that for your father. He turned three shades of green, and I thought for a moment he was going to faint," the Old Man said, obviously cherishing the memory.