him wait on me again. So, recalling that a caster was off a chair yesterday, one is entitled to make sure that it is on to-day before sitting down. If the expression is not too strong, I may say that I was taken aback by William’s manner. Even when crossing the room to take my orders he let his one hand play nervously with the other. I had to repeat ‘Sardine on toast’ twice, and instead of answering ‘Yes, sir,’ as if my selection of sardine on toast was a personal gratification to him, which is the manner one expects of a waiter, he glanced at the clock, then out at the window, and, starting, asked, ‘Did you say sardine on toast, sir?’
It was the height of summer, when London smells like a chemist’s shop, and he who has the dinner-table at the window needs no candles to show him his knife and fork. I lay back at intervals, now watching a starved-looking woman sleep on a door-step, and again complaining of the club bananas. By-and-by I saw a girl of the commonest kind, ill-clad and dirty, as all these Arabs are. Their parents should be compelled to feed and clothe them comfortably, or at least to keep them indoors, where they cannot offend our eyes. Such children are for pushing aside with one’s umbrella; but this girl I noticed because she was gazing at the club windows. She had stood thus for perhaps ten minutes when I became aware that someone was leaning over me to look out at the window. I turned round. Conceive my indignation on seeing that the rude person was William.
‘How dare you, William?’ I said, sternly. He seemed not to hear me. Let me tell, in the measured words of one describing a past incident, what then took place. To get nearer the window he pressed heavily on my shoulder.
‘William, you forget yourself!’ I said, meaning – as I see now – that he had forgotten me.
I heard him gulp, but not to my reprimand. He was scanning the street. His hands chattered on my shoulder, and, pushing him from me, I saw that his mouth was agape.
‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.
He stared at me, and then, like one who had at last heard the echo of my question, seemed to be brought back to the club. He turned his face from me for an instant, and answered shakily:
‘I beg your pardon, sir! I – I shouldn’t have done it. Are the bananas too ripe, sir?’
He recommended the nuts, and awaited my verdict so anxiously while I ate one that I was about to speak graciously, when I again saw his eyes drag him to the window.
‘William,’ I said, my patience giving way at last, ‘I dislike being waited on by a melancholy waiter.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, trying to smile, and then broke out passionately, ‘For God’s sake, sir, tell me, have you seen a little girl looking in at the club windows?’
He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoiling my dinner.
‘There,’ I said, pointing to the girl, and no doubt would have added that he must bring me coffee immediately, had he continued to listen. But already he was beckoning to the child. I have not the least interest in her (indeed, it had never struck me that waiters had private affairs, and I still think it a pity that they should have); but as I happened to be looking out at the window I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soon as the girl saw William she ran into the street, regardless of vehicles, and nodded three times to him. Then she disappeared.
I have said that she was quite a common child, without attraction of any sort, and yet it was amazing the difference she made in William. He gasped relief, like one who had broken through the anxiety that checks breathing, and into his face there came a silly laugh of happiness. I had dined well, on the whole, so I said:
‘I am glad to see you cheerful again, William.’
I meant that I approved his cheerfulness because it helped my digestion, but he must needs think I was sympathising with him.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he answered. ‘Oh, sir! when she nodded and I saw it was all right I could have gone down on my knees to God.’
I was as much horrified as if he had dropped a plate on my toes. Even William, disgracefully emotional as he was at the moment, flung out his arms to recall the shameful words.
‘Coffee, William!’ I said, sharply.
I sipped my coffee indignantly, for it was plain to me that William had something on his mind.
‘You are not vexed with me, sir?’ he had the hardihood to whisper.
‘It was a liberty,’ I said.
‘I know, sir; but I was beside myself.’
‘That was a liberty also.’
He hesitated, and then blurted out:
‘It is my wife, sir. She–’
I stopped him with my hand. William, whom I had favoured in so many ways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years before had I ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class did this sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I said warningly:
‘Remember where you are, William.’
‘Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate–’
‘Delicate! I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics.’
‘Yes, sir; begging your pardon.’
It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his wife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in the mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about his wife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad form superficially, for my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for his wife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope of allaying my irritation. So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer who has bespattered me with mud to scrape it off.
I desired to be told by William that the girl’s signals meant his wife’s recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wish and answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of his class, he said:
‘She has had a good day; but the doctor, he – the doctor is afeard she is dying.’
Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in league against me, when they might so easily have chosen some other member.
‘Pooh! the doctor,’ I said.
‘Yes, sir,’ he answered.
‘Have you been married long, William?’
‘Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was – I – I mind her when… and now the doctor says–’
The fellow gaped at me. ‘More coffee, sir?’ he asked.
‘What is her ailment?’
‘She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and – and you see, she has had a baby lately–’
‘William!’
‘And she – I – the doctor is afeard she’s not picking up.’
‘I feel sure she will pick up.’
‘Yes, sir?’
It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him:
‘I
