a cheroot, which
may be smoked from either end. So used was I to him that, had he died
or got another situation (or whatever it is such persons do when they
disappear from the club), I should probably have told the head waiter
to bring him back, as I disliked changes.

It would not become me to know precisely when I began to think William
an ingrate, but I date his lapse from the evening when he brought me
oysters. I detest oysters, and no one knew it better than William. He
has agreed with me that he could not understand any gentleman's liking
them. Between me and a certain member who smacks his lips twelve times
to a dozen of them, William knew I liked a screen to be placed until we
had reached the soup, and yet he gave me the oysters and the other man
my sardine. Both the other member and I called quickly for brandy and
the head waiter. To do William justice, he shook, but never can I
forget his audacious explanation, "Beg pardon, sir, but I was thinking
of something else."

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

I must not be accused of bad form for looking at William on the
following evening. What prompted me to do so was not personal interest
in him, but a desire to see whether I dare let him wait on me again.
So, recalling that a castor 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 asleep on a door-step, and again complaining of
the club bananas. By and by, I saw a little 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