She bowed to the sandwich, then to right and left, kissed her hand to the crowd of voters and not-yet voters, and ran blushing into the house.
The storm of applause broke loose. The very house rocked drunkenly as the sound-waves dashed themselves against the façade.
The strenuous, nerve-racking life of New York compelled the crowd to linger for an hour. It was not until they began to break off bits of the bronze railing and chip souvenirs from the portico columns that the Goodchilds' butler sent a hurry call for the police.
The lieutenant's official version was cold and formal.
The Public Menu Commission had been having pitched battles. The Public Sentiment Corps had been bombarding the newspapers with letters asking for the official menu, but the commission refused to be hurried by popular clamor, and said so to the reporters. Their own sessions were held behind locked doors. Omelette soufflée au curaçoa was definitely stricken off Signor Piccolini's tentative menu, on the theory that the filling was not permanent.
"Air is cheap," protested Piccolini, "and we have to consider the expense."
"But we want something that will stay by the hungry more than fifteen minutes."
"Then," said Piccolini, scathingly, "give them sliced rubber boots."
"If _you_ prepared the sauce, dear master," interjected H. R., who happened to be present, "I'd rather eat it than any other artist's filet Châteaubriand aux--"
Piccolini bowed to him profoundly. Then he shrugged his shoulders at the others.
"Nevertheless," he said, with conviction, "Omelette soufflée--"
"What can you expect from the other members?" whispered H. R. to him. "If we prolong the debate there won't be any hungry men alive to eat our dinner. Yield, dear master, for the sake of humanity." Then he said aloud, "Let's try beans."
The Commission therefore reported progress and adjourned for the day.
The newspapers, spurred thereto by the avalanche of letters and favorite recipes from charitable ladies in Brooklyn, who gave their names, addresses, and terms per week, devoted much space to the ideal hunger-appeaser.
For the first time in history New York began to take an intelligent interest in menus. Everybody talked about eating as if Hungarian orchestras and Brazilian dances did not exist.