"Not at all," Clete said. "Is Arnaud's offering a discount for servicemen?"
"I don't know," the Old Man said. "But now that you've mentioned it, I'll be sure to ask."
[THREE]
Arnaud's Restaurant
The Vieux Carre
New Orleans, Louisiana
2030 5 April 1943
When the 1938 Durham-bodied Cadillac pulled up to the over-the-sidewalk canopy of the French Quarter Landmark-it was said that the Marquis de Lafayette wanted to dine at Arnaud's but couldn't get a table-one of the pro-prietors, who was functioning as the maitre d'hotel, and a waiter came out the door.
"I was hoping you'd change your mind, again, Mr. Howell," the proprietor said as the Old Man. grunting, stepped out of the car.
"I'd heard business was bad, but I wasn't aware it was so bad you had to stand on the street shanghaiing customers," the Old Man said.
Clete laughed.
"Stop that," Martha said. "The last thing you want to do is encourage him."
"You remember my daughter-in-law, of course, Edward?" the Old Man asked.
"Of course. Nice to see you again, too, Mrs. Howell."
"And my grandson?"
"Of course. Miz Howell, Mr. Frade."
"That's Major Frade, Edward. What did you think he's wearing? A door-man's uniform?"
"It's good to see you, too," Clete said, shaking hands.
"For reasons I cannot fathom, Mrs. Howell wished to have dinner here tonight, and my grandson went along with her. Personally, if this were to be my last meal in New Orleans for a while, I could think of half a dozen other places besides your greasy spoon," the Old Man said.
"Well, we'll try to see that Major Frade doesn't go away hungry."
"That'll be a pleasant change," the Old Man said, and, following the waiter, walked into the restaurant. The proprietor, Martha, and Clete smiled at each other, shaking their heads. The proprietor bowed Martha into the restaurant ahead of him.
"Would you like anything special?" the proprietor asked Clete. "All I heard was that the dinner was important to him. I didn't know who."
"How are the oysters?" Clete asked.
"Compared to what?" the proprietor asked.
"Hey, this is me. not my grandfather." Clete chuckled.
"How would you like them?"
"On the half-shell."
"These are nice, you'll like them," the proprietor said. "I was going to sug-gest on the half-shell."
The little procession moved past the long line of people waiting for tables and on to the rear of the lower dining room. The Old Man, who had been taking half a dozen meals a week in Arnaud's since he was twelve, was one of the rare exceptions to the rule that Arnaud's did not accept reservations. A small room with a curtained door was waiting for them, the table set up elaborately, includ-ing a candelabra. Three wine coolers held napkin-wrapped bottles.
The proprietor took a bottle of champagne from one of them, skillfully popped the cork, and poured.