Kayser."

In a flash Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino turned upon Bindle, his
moustache bristling like the spines of a wild-boar, and from his lips
poured a passionate stream of Southern invective.

Unable to understand a word of the burning phrases of reproach that
eddied and flowed about him, Bindle merely stared. There was a patter
of feet from all parts of the long dining-room, and soon he was the
centre of an angry crowd of excited gesticulating waiters, with
Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino screaming his fury in the centre.

"Hi!" called Bindle to Scratcher, who appeared through the
service-door, just as matters seemed about to break into open
violence. "'Ere! Scratcher, wot's up? Call 'im orf."

"Wot did you call 'im, Joe?" enquired Scratcher, pushing his way
through the crowd.

"I asked 'is name, an' then 'e went off like the 'mad minute,' so I
said I'd call 'im 'Kayser,' because of 'is whiskers."

At the repetition of the obnoxious word, Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino
shook his fist in Bindle's face, and screamed more hysterically than
ever. He was white to the lips, at the corners of his mouth two little
points of white foam had collected, and his eyes blinked with the
rapidity of a cinematograph film.

With the aid of three other waiters, Scratcher succeeded in restoring
peace. Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino's fortissimo reproaches were
reduced to piano murmurs by the explanation that Bindle meant no harm,
added to which Bindle apologised.

"Look 'ere," he said, genuinely regretful at the effect of his remark,
"'ow was I to know that you was that sensitive, you lookin' so fierce
too."

The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute;
but it was obvious that Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in his
heart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult.

"Fancy 'im takin' on like that," muttered Bindle, as he strove to
adjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sides
of the table. "Funny things foreigners, as 'uffy as birds, they are."
Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he enquired, "Wot
the 'ell am I a-goin' to call 'im?"

"Call who?" enquired Scratcher, his mouth full of something.

Bindle looked about warily. "Ole Kayser," he whispered. "'E's that
sensitive. Explodes if you looks at 'im, 'e does."

Scratcher worked hard to reduce the contents of his mouth to
conversational proportions.

"I can't never remember 'is name," con