The Inconsiderate Waiter

by James M. Barrie

　　Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the manI bowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of thefirst corner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, thatthose puzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat,all belong to club waiters.

　　Until William forced his affairs upon me that was all I did know ofthe private life of waiters, though I have been in the club for twentyyears. I was even unaware whether they slept downstairs or had theirown homes; nor had I the interest to inquire of other members, northey the knowledge to inform me. I hold that this sort of peopleshould be fed and clothed and given airing and wives and children, andI subscribe yearly, I believe for these purposes; but to come intocloser relation with waiters is bad form; they are club fittings, andWilliam should have kept his distress to himself, or taken it away andpatched it up like a rent in one of the chairs. His inconsideratenesshas been a pair of spectacles to me for months.

　　It is not correct taste to know the name of a club waiter, so I mustapologise for knowing William's, and still more for not forgetting it.If, again, to speak of a waiter is bad form, to speak bitterly is thecomic degree of it. But William has disappointed me sorely. There wereyears when I would defer dining several minutes that he might wait onme. His pains to reserve the window-seat for me were perfectlysatisfactory. I allowed him privileges, as to suggest dishes, andwould give him information, as that some one had startled me in thereading-room by slamming a door. I have shown him how I cut my fingerwith a piece of string. Obviously he was gratified by theseattentions, usually recommending a liqueur; and I fancy he must haveunderstood my sufferings, for he often looked ill himself. Probably hewas rheumatic, but I cannot say for certain, as I never thought ofasking, and he had the sense to see that the knowledge would beoffensive to me.

　　In the smoking-room we have a waiter so independent that once, when hebrought me a yellow chartreuse, and I said I had ordered green, hereplied, "No, sir; you said yellow." William could never have beenguilty of such effrontery. In appearance, of course, he is mean, but Ican no more describe him than a milkmaid could draw cows. I suppose wedistinguish one waiter from another much as we pick our hat from therack. We could have plotted a murder safely before William. He neverpresumed to have any opinions of his own. When such was my mood heremained silent, and if I announced that something diverting hadhappened to me he laughed before I told him what it was. He turned thetwinkle in his eye off or on at my bidding as readily as if it was thegas. To my "Sure to be wet to-morrow," he would reply, "Yes, sir;" andto Trelawney's "It doesn't look like rain," two minutes afterward, hewould reply, "No, sir." It was one member who said Lightning Rod wouldwin the Derby and another who said Lightning Rod had no chance, but itwas William who agreed with both. He was like a cheroot, which may besmoked from either end. So used was I to him that, had he died or gotanother situation (or whatever it is such persons do when theydisappear from the club), I should probably have told the head waiterto bring him back, as I disliked changes.

　　It would not become me to know precisely when I began to think Williaman ingrate, but I date his lapse from the evening when he brought meoysters. I detest oysters, and no one knew it better than William. Hehas agreed with me that he could not understand any gentleman's likingthem. Between me and a certain member who smacks his lips twelve timesto a dozen of them William knew I liked a screen to be placed until wehad reached the soup, and yet he gave me the oysters and the other manmy sardine. Both the other member and I quickly called for brandy andthe head waiter. To do William justice, he shook, but never can Iforget his audacious explanation: "Beg pardon, sir, but I was thinkingof something else."

　　In these words William had flung off the mask, and now I knew him forwhat he was.

　　I must not be accused of bad form for looking at William on thefollowing evening. What prompted me to do so was not personal interestin him, but a desire to see whether I dare let him wait on me again.So, recalling that a caster was off a chair yesterday, one is entitledto make sure that it is on to-day before sitting down. If theexpression is not too strong, I may say that I was taken aback byWilliam's manner. Even when crossing the room to take my orders he lethis one hand play nervously with the other. I had to repeat "Sardineon toast" twice, and instead of answering "Yes, sir," as if myselection 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 ontoast, 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 showhim his knife and fork. I lay back at intervals, now watching astarved-looking woman sleep on a door-step, and again complaining ofthe 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 becompelled to feed and clothe them comfortably, or at least to keepthem indoors, where they cannot offend our eyes. Such children are forpushing aside with one's umbrella; but this girl I noticed because shewas gazing at the club windows. She had stood thus for perhaps tenminutes when I became aware that some one was leaning over me to lookout at the window. I turned round. Conceive my indignation on seeingthat 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 onmy shoulder.

　　"William, you forget yourself!" I said, meaning--as I see now--that hehad 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 sawthat 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 ofmy question, seemed to be brought back to the club. He turned his facefrom me for an instant, and answered shakily:

　　"I beg your pardon, sir! I--I shouldn't have done it. Are the bananastoo ripe, sir?"

　　He recommended the nuts, and awaited my verdict so anxiously while Iate one that I was about to speak graciously, when I again saw hiseyes drag him to the window.

　　"William," I said, my patience giving way at last, "I dislike beingwaited on by a melancholy waiter."

　　"Yes, sir," he replied, trying to smile, and then broke outpassionately, "For God's sake, sir, tell me, have you seen a littlegirl looking in at the club windows?"

　　He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoilingmy dinner.

　　"There," I said, pointing to the girl, and no doubt would have addedthat he must bring me coffee immediately, had he continued to listen.But already he was beckoning to the child. I have not the leastinterest in her (indeed, it had never struck me that waiters hadprivate 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 avoidseeing what occurred. As soon as the girl saw William she ran into thestreet, regardless of vehicles, and nodded three times to him. Thenshe disappeared.

　　I have said that she was quite a common child, without attraction ofany sort, and yet it was amazing the difference she made in William.He gasped relief, like one who had broken through the anxiety thatchecks breathing, and into his face there came a silly laugh ofhappiness. 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 mydigestion, but he must needs think I was sympathising with him.

　　"Thank you, sir," he answered. "Oh, sir! when she nodded and I saw itwas 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. EvenWilliam, disgracefully emotional as he was at the moment, flung outhis arms to recall the shameful words.

　　"Coffee, William!" I said, sharply.

　　I sipped my coffee indignantly, for it was plain to me that Williamhad 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 manyways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years before hadI ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class didthis sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I saidwarningly:

　　"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 hiswife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain inthe mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about hiswife, but, though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad formsuperficially, for my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for hiswife, not because I was interested in her welfare, but in the hope ofallaying my irritation. So I am entitled to invite the wayfarer whohas bespattered me with mud to scrape it off.

　　I desired to be told by William that the girl's signals meant hiswife's recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wishand answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness ofhis class, he said:

　　"She has had a good day; but the doctor, he--the doctor is afeard sheis dying."

　　Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in leagueagainst 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--andyou 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 was once married, William. My wife--it was just such a case asyours."

　　"She did not get better sir?"

　　"No."

　　After a pause he said, "Thank you, sir," meaning for the sympathy thatmade me tell him that. But it must have been the wine.

　　"That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?"

　　"Yes; if she nods three times it means my wife is a little better."

　　"She nodded thrice to-day."

　　"But she is told to do that to relieve me, and maybe those nods don'ttell the truth."

　　"Is she your girl?"

　　"No; we have none but the baby. She is a neighbour's; she comes twicea day."

　　"It is heartless of her parents not to send her every hour."

　　"But she is six years old," he said, "and has a house and two sistersto look after in the daytime, and a dinner to cook. Gentlefolk don'tunderstand."

　　"I suppose you live in some low part, William."

　　"Off Drury Lane," he answered, flushing; "but--but it isn't low. Yousee, we were never used to anything better, and I mind when I let hersee the house before we were married, she--she a sort of cried becauseshe was so proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now--she'safeard she'll die when I'm away at my work."

　　"Did she tell you that?"

　　"Never; she always says she is feeling a little stronger."

　　"Then how can you know she is afraid of that?"

　　"I don't know how I know, sir; but when I am leaving the house in themorning I look at her from the door, and she looks at me, and then I--I know."

　　"A green chartreuse, William!"

　　I tried to forget William's vulgar story in billiards, but he hadspoiled my game. My opponent, to whom I can give twenty, ran out whenI was sixty-seven, and I put aside my cue pettishly. That in itselfwas bad form, but what would they have thought had they known that awaiter's impertinence caused it! I grew angrier with William as thenight wore on, and next day I punished him by giving my orders throughanother waiter.

　　As I had my window-seat, I could not but see that the girl was lateagain. Somehow I dawdled over my coffee. I had an evening paper beforeme, but there was so little in it that my eyes found more of interestin the street. It did not matter to me whether William's wife died,but when that girl had promised to come, why did she not come? Theselower classes only give their word to break it. The coffee wasundrinkable.

　　At last I saw her. William was at another window, pretending to dosomething with the curtains. I stood up, pressing closer to thewindow. The coffee had been so bad that I felt shaky. She nodded threetimes, and smiled.

　　"She is a little better," William whispered to me, almost gaily.

　　"Whom are you speaking of?" I asked, coldly, and immediately retiredto the billiard-room, where I played a capital game. The coffee wasmuch better there than in the dining-room.

　　Several days passed, and I took care to show William that I hadforgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the little girl (though Inever looked for her) every evening, and she always nodded threetimes, save once, when she shook her head, and then William's facegrew white as a napkin. I remember this incident because that night Icould not get into a pocket. So badly did I play that the thought ofit kept me awake in bed, and that, again, made me wonder how William'swife was. Next day I went to the club early (which was not my custom)to see the new books. Being in the club at any rate, I looked into thedining-room to ask William if I had left my gloves there, and thesight of him reminded me of his wife; so I asked for her. He shook hishead mournfully, and I went off in a rage.

　　So accustomed am I to the club that when I dine elsewhere I feeluncomfortable next morning, as if I had missed a dinner. William knewthis; yet here he was, hounding me out of the club! That evening Idined (as the saying is) at a restaurant, where no sauce was servedwith the asparagus. Furthermore, as if that were not triumph enoughfor William, his doleful face came between me and every dish, and Iseemed to see his wife dying to annoy me.

　　I dined next day at the club for self-preservation, taking, however, atable in the middle of the room, and engaging a waiter who had oncenearly poisoned me by not interfering when I put two lumps of sugarinto my coffee instead of one, which is my allowance. But no Williamcame to me to acknowledge his humiliation, and by-and-by I becameaware that he was not in the room. Suddenly the thought struck me thathis wife must be dead, and I-- It was the worst cooked and the worstserved dinner I ever had in the club.

　　I tried the smoking-room. Usually the talk there is entertaining, buton that occasion it was so frivolous that I did not remain fiveminutes. In the card-room a member told me excitedly that a policemanhad spoken rudely to him; and my strange comment was:

　　"After all, it is a small matter."

　　In the library, where I had not been for years, I found two membersasleep, and, to my surprise, William on a ladder dusting books.

　　"You have not heard, sir?" he said, in answer to my raised eyebrows.Descending the ladder, he whispered tragically: "It was last evening,sir. I--I lost my head, and I--swore at a member."

　　I stepped back from William, and glanced apprehensively at the twomembers. They still slept.

　　"I hardly knew," William went on, "what I was doing all day yesterday,for I had left my wife so weakly that--"

　　I stamped my foot.

　　"I beg your pardon for speaking of her," he had the grace to say, "butI couldn't help slipping up to the window often yesterday to look forJenny, and when she did come, and I saw she was crying, it--it sort ofconfused me, and I didn't know right, sir, what I was doing. I hitagainst a member, Mr. Myddleton Finch, and he--he jumped and swore atme. Well, sir, I had just touched him after all, and I was somiserable, it a kind of stung me to be treated like--like that, and mea man as well as him; and I lost my senses, and--and I swore back."

　　William's shamed head sank on his chest, but I even let pass hisinsolence in likening himself to a member of the club, so afraid was Iof the sleepers waking and detecting me in talk with a waiter.

　　"For the love of God," William cried, with coarse emotion, "don't letthem dismiss me!"

　　"Speak lower!" I said. "Who sent you here?"

　　"I was turned out of the dining-room at once, and told to attend tothe library until they had decided what to do with me. Oh, sir, I'lllose my place!"

　　He was blubbering, as if a change of waiters, was a matter ofimportance.

　　"This is very bad, William," I said. "I fear I can do nothing foryou."

　　"Have mercy on a distracted man!" he entreated. "I'll go on my kneesto Mr. Myddleton Finch."

　　How could I but despise a fellow who would be thus abject for a pounda week?

　　"I dare not tell her," he continued, "that I have lost my place. Shewould just fall back and die."

　　"I forbade your speaking of your wife," I said, sharply, "unless youcan speak pleasantly of her."

　　"But she may be worse now, sir, and I cannot even see Jenny from here.The library windows look to the back."

　　"If she dies," I said, "it will be a warning to you to marry astronger woman next time."

　　Now every one knows that there is little real affection among thelower orders. As soon as they have lost one mate they take another.Yet William, forgetting our relative positions, drew himself up andraised his fist, and if I had not stepped back I swear he would havestruck me.

　　The highly improper words William used I will omit, out ofconsideration for him. Even while he was apologising for them Iretired to the smoking-room, where I found the cigarettes so badlyrolled that they would not keep alight. After a little I rememberedthat I wanted to see Myddleton Finch about an improved saddle of whicha friend of his has the patent. He was in the newsroom, and, havingquestioned him about the saddle, I said:

　　"By the way, what is this story about your swearing at one of thewaiters?"

　　"You mean about his swearing at me," Myddleton Finch replied,reddening.

　　"I am glad that was it," I said; "for I could not believe you guiltyof such bad form."

　　"If I did swear--" he was beginning, but I went on:

　　"The version which has reached me was that you swore at him, and herepeated the word. I heard he was to be dismissed and youreprimanded."

　　"Who told you that?" asked Myddleton Finch, who is a timid man.

　　"I forget; it is club talk," I replied, lightly. "But of course thecommittee will take your word. The waiter, whichever one he is, richlydeserves his dismissal for insulting you without provocation."

　　Then our talk returned to the saddle, but Myddleton Finch wasabstracted, and presently he said:

　　"Do you know, I fancy I was wrong in thinking that the waiter swore atme, and I'll withdraw my charge to-morrow."

　　Myddleton Finch then left me, and, sitting alone, I realised that Ihad been doing William a service. To some slight extent I may haveintentionally helped him to retain his place in the club, and I nowsee the reason, which was that he alone knows precisely to what extentI like my claret heated.

　　For a mere second I remembered William's remark that he should not beable to see the girl Jenny from the library windows. Then thisrecollection drove from my head that I had only dined in the sensethat my dinner-bill was paid. Returning to the dining-room, I happenedto take my chair at the window, and while I was eating a deviledkidney I saw in the street the girl whose nods had such an absurdeffect on William.

　　The children of the poor are as thoughtless as their parents, and thisJenny did not sign to the windows in the hope that William might seeher, though she could not see him. Her face, which was disgracefullydirty, bore doubt and dismay on it, but whether she brought good newsit would not tell. Somehow I had expected her to signal when she sawme, and, though her message could not interest me, I was in the moodin which one is irritated at that not taking place which he isawaiting. Ultimately she seemed to be making up her mind to go away.

　　A boy was passing with the evening papers, and I hurried out to getone, rather thoughtlessly, for we have all the papers in the club.Unfortunately, I misunderstood the direction the boy had taken; butround the first corner (out of sight of the club windows) I saw thegirl Jenny, and so asked her how William's wife was.

　　"Did he send you to me?" she replied, impertinently taking me for awaiter. "My!" she added, after a second scrutiny, "I b'lieve you'reone of them. His missis is a bit better, and I was to tell him as shetook all the tapiocar."

　　"How could you tell him?" I asked.

　　"I was to do like this," she replied, and went through the supping ofsomething out of a plate in dumb-show.

　　"That would not show she ate all the tapioca," I said.

　　"But I was to end like this," she answered, licking an imaginary platewith her tongue.

　　I gave her a shilling (to get rid of her), and returned to the clubdisgusted.

　　Later in the evening I had to go to the club library for a book, andwhile William was looking in vain for it (I had forgotten the title) Isaid to him:

　　"By the way, William, Mr. Myddleton Finch is to tell the committeethat he was mistaken in the charge he brought against you, so you willdoubtless be restored to the dining-room to-morrow."

　　The two members were still in their chairs, probably sleeping lightly;yet he had the effrontery to thank me.

　　"Don't thank me," I said, blushing at the imputation. "Remember yourplace, William!"

　　"But Mr. Myddleton Finch knew I swore," he insisted.

　　"A gentleman," I replied, stiffly, "cannot remember for twenty-fourhours what a waiter has said to him."

　　"No, sir; but--"

　　To stop him I had to say: "And, ah, William, your wife is a littlebetter. She has eaten the tapioca--all of it."

　　"How can your know, sir?"

　　"By an accident."

　　"Jenny signed to the window?"

　　"No."

　　"Then you saw her, and went out, and--"

　　"Nonsense!"

　　"Oh, sir, to do that for me! May God bl--"

　　"William!"

　　"Forgive me, sir; but--when I tell my missis, she will say it wasthought of your own wife as made you do it."

　　He wrung my hand. I dared not withdraw it, lest we should waken thesleepers.

　　William returned to the dining-room, and I had to show him that if hedid not cease looking gratefully at me I must change my waiter. I alsoordered him to stop telling me nightly how his wife was, but Icontinued to know, as I could not help seeing the girl Jenny from thewindow. Twice in a week I learned from this objectionable child thatthe ailing woman had again eaten all the tapioca. Then I becamesuspicious of William. I will tell why.

　　It began with a remark of Captain Upjohn's. We had been speaking ofthe inconvenience of not being able to get a hot dish served after 1A.M., and he said:

　　"It is because these lazy waiters would strike. If the beggars had alove of their work they would not rush away from the club the momentone o'clock strikes. That glum fellow who often waits on you takes tohis heels the moment he is clear of the club steps. He ran into me theother night at the top of the street, and was off withoutapologising."

　　"You mean the foot of the street, Upjohn," I said; for such is the wayto Drury Lane.

　　"No; I mean the top. The man was running west."

　　"East."

　　"West."

　　I smiled, which so annoyed him that he bet me two to one insovereigns. The bet could have been decided most quickly by askingWilliam a question, but I thought, foolishly doubtless, that it mighthurt his feelings, so I watched him leave the club. The possibility ofUpjohn's winning the bet had seemed remote to me. Conceive mysurprise, therefore when William went westward.

　　Amazed, I pursued him along two streets without realising that I wasdoing so. Then curiosity put me into a hansom. We followed William,and it proved to be a three-shilling fare, for, running when he was inbreath and walking when he was out of it, he took me to WestKensington.

　　I discharged my cab, and from across the street watched William'sincomprehensible behaviour. He had stopped at a dingy row of workmen'shouses, and knocked at the darkened window of one of them. Presently alight showed. So far as I could see, some one pulled up the blind andfor ten minutes talked to William. I was uncertain whether theytalked, for the window was not opened, and I felt that, had Williamspoken through the glass loud enough to be heard inside, I must haveheard him too. Yet he nodded and beckoned. I was still bewilderedwhen, by setting off the way he had come, he gave me the opportunityof going home.

　　Knowing from the talk of the club what the lower orders are, could Idoubt that this was some discreditable love-affair of William's? Hissolicitude for his wife had been mere pretence; so far as it wasgenuine, it meant that he feared she might recover. He probably toldher that he was detained nightly in the club till three.

　　I was miserable next day, and blamed the deviled kidneys for it.Whether William was unfaithful to his wife was nothing to me, but Ihad two plain reasons for insisting on his going straight home fromhis club: the one that, as he had made me lose a bet, I must punishhim; the other that he could wait upon me better if he went to bedbetimes.

　　Yet I did not question him. There was something in his face that--Well, I seemed to see his dying wife in it.

　　I was so out of sorts that I could eat no dinner. I left the club.Happening to stand for some time at the foot of the street, I chancedto see the girl Jenny coming, and-- No; let me tell the truth, thoughthe whole club reads: I was waiting for her.

　　"How is William's wife to-day?" I asked.

　　"She told me to nod three times," the little slattern replied; "butshe looked like nothink but a dead one till she got the brandy.

　　"Hush, child!" I said, shocked. "You don't know how the dead look."

　　"Bless yer," she answered, "don't I just! Why, I've helped to lay 'emout. I'm going on seven."

　　"Is William good to his wife?"

　　"Course he is. Ain't she his missis?"

　　"Why should that make him good to her?" I asked, cynically, out of myknowledge of the poor. But the girl, precocious in many ways, hadnever had any opportunities of studying the lower classes in thenewspapers, fiction, and club talk. She shut one eye, and, looking upwonderingly, said:

　　"Ain't you green--just!"

　　"When does William reach home at night?"

　　" 'Tain't night; it's morning. When I wakes up at half dark and halflight, and hears a door shutting, I know as it's either father goingoff to his work or Mr. Hicking come home from his."

　　"Who is Mr. Hicking?"

　　"Him as we've been speaking on--William. We calls him mister, 'causehe's a toff. Father's just doing jobs in Covent Gardens, but Mr.Hicking, he's a waiter, and a clean shirt every day. The old womanwould like father to be a waiter, but he hain't got the 'ristocraticlook."

　　"What old woman?"

　　"Go 'long! that's my mother. Is it true there's a waiter in the clubjust for to open the door?"

　　"Yes; but--"

　　"And another just for to lick the stamps? My!"

　　"William leaves the club at one o'clock?" I said, interrogatively.

　　She nodded. "My mother," she said, "is one to talk, and she says Mr.Hicking as he should get away at twelve, 'cause his missis needs himmore'n the gentlemen need him. The old woman do talk."

　　"And what does William answer to that?"

　　"He says as the gentlemen can't be kept waiting for their cheese."

　　"But William does not go straight home when he leaves the club?"

　　"That's the kid."

　　"Kid!" I echoed, scarcely understanding, for, knowing how little thepoor love their children, I had asked William no questions about thebaby.

　　"Didn't you know his missis had a kid?"

　　"Yes; but that is no excuse for William's staying away from his sickwife," I answered, sharply. A baby in such a home as William's, Ireflected, must be trying; but still-- Besides, his class can sleepthrough any din.

　　"The kid ain't in our court," the girl explained. "He's in W., he is,and I've never been out of W.C.; leastwise, not as I knows on."

　　"This is W. I suppose you mean that the child is at West Kensington?Well, no doubt it was better for William's wife to get rid of thechild--"

　　"Better!" interposed the girl. " 'Tain't better for her not to havethe kid. Ain't her not having him what she's always thinking on whenshe looks like a dead one?"

　　"How could you know that?"

　　"Cause," answered the girl, illustrating her words with a gesture, "Iwatches her, and I sees her arms going this way, just like as shewanted to hug her kid."

　　"Possibly you are right," I said, frowning; "but William had put thechild out to nurse because it disturbed his night's rest. A man whohas his work to do--"

　　"You are green!"

　　"Then why have the mother and child been separated?"

　　"Along of that there measles. Near all the young 'uns in our court has'em bad."

　　"Have you had them?"

　　"I said the young 'uns."

　　"And William sent the baby to West Kensington to escape infection?"

　　"Took him, he did."

　　"Against his wife's wishes?"

　　"Na-o!"

　　"You said she was dying for want of the child?"

　　"Wouldn't she rayther die than have the kid die?"

　　"Don't speak so heartlessly, child. Why does William not go straighthome from the club? Does he go to West Kensington to see it?"

　　" 'Tain't a hit, it's an 'e. Course he do."

　　"Then he should not. His wife has the first claim on him."

　　"Ain't you green! It's his missis as wants him to go. Do you think shecould sleep till she knowed how the kid was?"

　　"But he does not go into the house at West Kensington?"

　　"Is he soft? Course he don't go in, fear of taking the infection tothe kid. They just holds the kid up at the window to him, so as he canhave a good look. Then he comes home and tells his missis. He sitsfoot of the bed and tells."

　　"And that takes place every night? He can't have much to tell."

　　"He has just."

　　"He can only say whether the child is well or ill."

　　"My! He tells what a difference there is in the kid since he seed himlast."

　　"There can be no difference!"

　　"Go 'long! Ain't a kid always growing? Haven't Mr. Hicking to tell howthe hair is getting darker, and heaps of things beside?"

　　"Such as what?"

　　"Like whether he larfed, and if he has her nose, and how as he knowedhim. He tells her them things more 'n once."

　　"And all this time he is sitting at the foot of the bed?"

　　" 'Cept when he holds her hand."

　　"But when does he get to bed himself?"

　　"He don't get much. He tells her as he has a sleep at the club."

　　"He cannot say that."

　　"Hain't I heard him? But he do go to his bed a bit, and then they bothlies quiet, her pretending she is sleeping so as he can sleep, and him'feard to sleep case he shouldn't wake up to give her the bottlestuff."

　　"What does the doctor say about her?"

　　"He's a good one, the doctor. Sometimes he says she would get betterif she could see the kid through the window."

　　"Nonsense!"

　　"And if she was took to the country."

　　"Then why does not William take her?"

　　"My! you are green! And if she drank port wines."

　　"Doesn't she?"

　　"No; but William, he tells her about the gentlemen drinking them."

　　On the tenth day after my conversation with this unattractive child Iwas in my brougham, with the windows up, and I sat back, a paperbefore my face lest any one should look in. Naturally, I was afraid ofbeing seen in company of William's wife and Jenny, for men about townare uncharitable, and, despite the explanation I had ready, might havecharged me with pitying William. As a matter of fact, William wassending his wife into Surrey to stay with an old nurse of mine, and Iwas driving her down because my horses needed an outing. Besides, Iwas going that way at any rate.

　　I had arranged that the girl Jenny, who was wearing an outrageousbonnet, should accompany us, because, knowing the greed of her class,I feared she might blackmail me at the club.

　　William joined us in the suburbs, bringing the baby with him, as I hadforeseen they would all be occupied with it, and to save me thetrouble of conversing with them. Mrs. Hicking I found too pale andfragile for a workingman's wife, and I formed a mean opinion of herintelligence from her pride in the baby, which was a very ordinaryone. She created quite a vulgar scene when it was brought to her,though she had given me her word not to do so, what irritated me evenmore than her tears being her ill-bred apology that she "had been'feared baby wouldn't know her again." I would have told her theydidn't know any one for years had I not been afraid of the girl Jenny,who dandled the infant on her knees and talked to it as if itunderstood. She kept me on tenter-hooks by asking it offensivequestions, such as, " 'Oo know who give me that bonnet?" and answeringthem herself, "It was the pretty gentleman there;" and several times Ihad to affect sleep because she announced, "Kiddy wants to kiss thepretty gentleman."

　　Irksome as all this necessarily was to a man of taste, I suffered evenmore when we reached our destination. As we drove through the villagethe girl Jenny uttered shrieks of delight at the sight of flowersgrowing up the cottage walls, and declared they were "just like amusic-'all without the drink license." As my horses required a rest, Iwas forced to abandon my intention of dropping these persons at theirlodgings and returning to town at once, and I could not go to the innlest I should meet inquisitive acquaintances. Disagreeablecircumstances, therefore, compelled me to take tea with a waiter'sfamily--close to a window too, through which I could see the girlJenny talking excitedly to the villagers, and telling them, I feltcertain, that I had been good to William. I had a desire to go out andput myself right with those people.

　　William's long connection with the club should have given him somemanners, but apparently his class cannot take them on, for, though heknew I regarded his thanks as an insult, he looked them when he wasnot speaking them, and hardly had he sat down, by my orders, than heremembered that I was a member of the club, and jumped up. Nothing isin worse form than whispering, yet again and again, when he thought Iwas not listening, he whispered to Mrs. Hicking, "You don't feelfaint?" or "How are you now?" He was also in extravagant glee becauseshe ate two cakes (it takes so little to put these people in goodspirits), and when she said she felt like another being already thefellow's face charged me with the change. I could not but conclude,from the way Mrs. Hicking let the baby pound her, that she wasstronger than she had pretended.

　　I remained longer than was necessary, because I had something to sayto William which I knew he would misunderstand, and so I put offsaying it. But when he announced that it was time for him to return toLondon,--at which his wife suddenly paled, so that he had to sign toher not to break down,--I delivered the message.

　　"William," I said, "the head waiter asked me to say that you couldtake a fortnight's holiday just now. Your wages will be paid asusual."

　　Confound them! William had me by the hand, and his wife was in tearsbefore I could reach the door.

　　"Is it your doing again, sir?" William cried.

　　"William!" I said, fiercely.

　　"We owe everything to you," he insisted. "The port wine--"

　　"Because I had no room for it in my cellar."

　　"The money for the nurse in London--"

　　"Because I objected to being waited on by a man who got no sleep."

　　"These lodgings--"

　　"Because I wanted to do something for my old nurse."

　　"And now, sir, a fortnight's holiday!"

　　"Good-bye, William!" I said, in a fury.

　　But before I could get away Mrs. Hicking signed to William to leavethe room, and then she kissed my hand. She said something to me. Itwas about my wife. Somehow I-- What business had William to tell herabout my wife?

　　They are all back in Drury Lane now, and William tells me that hiswife sings at her work just as she did eight years ago. I have nointerest in this, and try to check his talk of it; but such peoplehave no sense of propriety, and he even speaks of the girl Jenny, whosent me lately a gaudy pair of worsted gloves worked by her own hand.The meanest advantage they took of my weakness, however, was incalling their baby after me. I have an uncomfortable suspicion, too,that William has given the other waiters his version of the affair;but I feel safe so long as it does not reach the committee.