s of beer and
turned to Bindle.

"I changed my job," he remarked mysteriously.

"Wot jer doin'?" enquired Bindle, intimating to the barman by a nod
that his pewter was to be refilled.

"Waiter," responded Scratcher.

"Waiter!" cried Bindle, regarding him with astonishment.

"Yus; at Napolini's in Regent Street;" and Scratcher replaced his
glass upon the counter and, with a dexterous upward blow, scattered to
the winds the froth that bedewed his upper lip.

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle, finding solace in his refilled
tankard. "But don't you 'ave to be a foreigner to be a waiter? Don't
you 'ave to speak through your nose or somethink?"

"Noooo!" In Scratcher's voice was the contempt of superior knowledge.
"Them furriners 'ave all gone to the war, or most of 'em," he added,
"an' so we get a look-in."

"Wot d'you do?" enquired Bindle.

"Oh! we jest take orders, an' serves the grub, an' makes out the
bills, an' gets tips. I made four pound last week, all but twelve
shillings," he added.

"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle.

"Then," proceeded Scratcher, warming to his subject, "they often
leaves somethin' in the bottles. Last night Ole Grandpa got so
squiffy, 'e cried about 'is mother, 'e did."

"An' didn't it cost 'im anything?" enquired Ginger, who had been an
interested listener.

"Not a copper," said Scratcher impressively, "not a brass farden."

"I wish this ruddy war was over," growled Ginger. "Four pound a week,
and a free drunk. Blast the war! I say, I don't 'old wiv killin'."

"Then," continued Scratcher, "you can always get a bellyful.
There's----"

"'Old 'ard, Scratcher," interrupted Bindle. "Wot place is it you're
talkin' about?"

"Napolini's," replied Scratcher, looking at Bindle reproachfully.

"Go on, ole sport; it's all right," said Bindle resignedly. "I thought
you might 'ave got mixed up with 'eaven."

"When you takes a stoo," continued Scratcher, "you can always pick out
a bit o' meat with your fingers--if it ain't too 'ot," he added, as if
not wishing to exaggerate. "An' when it's whitebait, you can pinch
some when no one's lookin'. As for potatoes, you can 'ave all you can
eat, and soup,--well, it's there."

Scratcher's tone implied that Napolini's was literally running with
soup and potatoes.

"Don't go on, Scratcher," said Bindle mournfully; "see wot you're
a-doin' to pore Ole Ging."

"Then there's macaroni," continued Scratcher relentlessly, "them bein'
I-talians. Long st