§ 96 The Truth From the Inside
The dining car waiter was one of those persons who feel a sense of personal proprietorship in the institutions they serve—a type not at all uncommon among members of his race. His manner, his voice, all about him, subtly conveyed the idea that here was one who took a deep pride in the undertaking of feeding people on a transcontinental train, and was determined that no blot ever should besmirch the fair name of the system.
So when the gentleman who was going to California gave a breakfast order of grapefruit, toast, coffee and soft-boiled eggs, he bent over the patron and in confidential tones whispered:
“Boss, I would not keer to reccermend the aigs this mawnin’! Naw, suh, I would suggest you tuck somethin’ else on the bill.”
“What’s the matter with the eggs—aren’t they fresh?” asked the customer.
The waiter’s voice sank still lower.
“I don’t know ef they’s fresh or ef they ain’t,” he said; “but to tell you the truth, we ain’t got none.”