It was as crowded and full of tobacco smoke and the odors of savory meats as the most loyal German could desire, and my guests were thoroughly at home. They ate their food happily, praised it discriminatingly, and studied the familiar environment carefully. As usual, certain things were lacking; for the Herr Director is a keen critic and never accepts anything as perfect. I agreed with him that the orchestra was too noisy and on the whole superfluous, and that the native American dining there could be easily recognized by the indifference with which he ate. We heard no loud complaining, and little or no quarrelling with the waiters. The food was accepted in a humble sort of way whether it was satisfactory or not; bills were paid, tips were given in the spirit of meekness, and accepted in the opposite way, and the guests left without any ceremony except that of paying their toll to the keepers of their hats and coats, a form of extortion quite unparallelled abroad. In striking contrast to our mere eating was my guests' enjoyment of every morsel of the food which they had selected, not simply because it was food, but because it was a note fitting into the gastronomic harmony. The head waiter and all his minions hovered about them with due reverence, and woe to him who by pose or gesture disturbed the perfect accord. A friend from Nebraska who was staying at our hotel had joined us at dinner. When the waiter handed him the bewildering bill of fare, he waved it aside saying: "Just bring me a big lobster stewed in milk, with a dish of pickles and a mince pie." The waiter turned pale, the Herr Director gasped, almost strangling on the salad he was eating, and the Frau Directorin looked at me despairingly. The waiter was the first to recover his composure, and cautiously suggested that the gentleman might like some Lobster à la Newburgh. "Nix," said the Nebraskan, "I want lobster à la Milkburgh, and don't forget the pickles." The waiter retreated and after a long conference with his superior, informed the gentleman that he could have his lobster stewed in milk, but that it would cost him one dollar and fifty cents. "Hustle it along," was the curt reply, and in about fifteen minutes he was deep in his bowl of lobster stew, flanked on either side by pickles and mince pie, while the rest of us were eating our way leisurely and artistically through a _menu_ which began with _caviar_ and ended with _Camambert_ and _demitasse_. After dinner, American men, manners and ideals became the subject of a discussion into which my Western friend good-naturedly entered, although he was made a horrible example of the fact that we are ill-mannered. The Herr Director insisted that our nation is too young to have any except bad manners, and while no doubt we had improved in the years since he first made our acquaintance, the improvement had not yet permeated the masses.