[MICHELE immediately hastens into the hotel.  VASILI sits, and MARIANO serves him.]

HAWCASTLE [to LADY CREECH, in her ear].  Quite right; but take care, he speaks English.

LADY CREECH [glaring at VASILI].  Many thoroughly objectionable persons do!

VASILI [apparently oblivious to her remark, to MARIANO].  My American friend wishes his own national dish.

MARIANO [deferentially, and serving VASILI to caviar].  Yes, Herr von Groellerhagen, he will have the eggs on but one of both sides and the hams fried.  So he go to cook it himself.

[Loud shouts and wild laughter from the street.  HORACE, ALMERIC, and LADY CREECH set their papers down in their laps and turn toward the door.]

MARIANO.  Ha!  He return from the kitchen with those national dish.

ETHEL [glancing in the doorway].  How horrid!

[MICHELE backs out on the stoop from the doorway laughing, carrying a platter of ham and eggs.]

MICHELE.  He have gone to wash himself at the street fountain.

[Tumult outside reaches its height, the shouts of “Yanka Dooda!” predominating.]

VASILI [laughing, clapping his hands].  Bravo!  Bravo!

ETHEL.  Horrible!

[PIKE enters from the hotel.  He is a youthful-looking American of about thirty-five, good-natured, shrewd, humorous, and kindly.  His voice has the homely quality of the Central States, clear, quiet, and strong, with a very slight drawl at times when the situation strikes him as humorous, often exhibiting an apologetic character.  He does not speak a dialect.  His English is the United States language as spoken by the average citizen to be met on a daycoach anywhere in the Central States.  He is clean-shaven, and his hair, which shows a slight tendency to gray, is neatly parted on the left side.  His light straw hat is edged with a strip of ribbon.  The hat, like the rest of his apparel, is neither new nor old.  His shirt, “lay-down” collar, and cuffs are of white, well-laundered linen.  He wears a loosely knotted tie.  A linen motor-duster extends to his knees.  His waistcoat is of a gray mixture, neither dark nor light.  His trousers are of the same material and not fashionably cut, yet they fit him well and are neither baggy at the knees nor “high-water.”  His shoes are plain black Congress gaiters and show a “good shine.”  In brief, he is just the average well-to-do but untravelled citizen that you might meet on an accommodation train between Logansport and Kokomo, Indiana.  As he enters he is wiping his face, after his ablutions, with a large towel, his hat pushed far back on his head.  The sleeves of his duster are turned back, and his detachable cuffs are in his pocket.  He comes through the doors rubbing his face with the towel, but, pausing for a moment on the stoop, drops the towel from his face to dry his hands.  All except VASILI and the waiters stare at him with frowns of annoyance.]