35
Speakers in the dark ceiling buzzed. A boisterous voice with a faint French accent announced, “The Irish Arms welcomes BSD North. Our staff will be bringing plates and food out momentarily. Finding a seat would let your magnifique feast begin.”
“There we go,” Mister Ponytail said. “What was the menu, again?”
“Pork roast,” Matheson said. “Chicken. Three different potatoes, greens, a couple different salads, cornbroad.” He closed his mouth. “Corn. Bread. Other bread. Dessert buffet after. And, and… stuff.”
“You’ll feel better with some food,” Quick said.
Matheson just shook his head.
Trying to pique Matheson’s interest, Dale said “You’ll be able to drink longer with some food.”
Mister Ponytail glared hot fury at Dale. “He needs to slow down.”
Dale’s heart sank. Ponytail was right—
