“ ‘I’m on the job,’ says Sir Percival, taking off his helmet and hanging it on his halberd and leaning ’em in the corner. The girl goes up and takes her seat, and I see her jaw squared tight under her smile. ‘We’re going to be waited on by a real halberdier,’ says she, ‘one who is proud of his profession. Isn’t it sweet?’

“ ‘Ripping,’ says the swell young man. ‘Much prefer a waiter,’ says the fat old gent. ‘I hope he doesn’t come from a cheap museum,’ says the old lady; ‘he might have microbes in his costume.’

“Before he goes to the table, Sir Percival takes me by the arm. ‘Eighteen,’ says he, ‘I’ve got to pull off this job without a blunder. You coach me straight, or I’ll take that halberd and make hash out of you.’ And then he goes up to the table with his coat of mail on and a napkin over his arm and waits for the order.

“ ‘Why, it’s Deering!’ says the young swell. ‘Hello, old man. What the—’

“ ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ interrupts the halberdier, ‘I’m waiting on the table.’

“The old man looks at him grim, like a Boston bull. ‘So, Deering,’ he says, ‘you’re at work yet.’

“ ‘Yes, sir,’ says Sir Percival, quiet and gentlemanly as I could have been myself, ‘for almost three months, now.’ ‘You haven’t been discharged during the time?’ asks the old man. ‘Not once, sir,’ says he, ‘though I’ve had to change my work several times.’

“ ‘Waiter,’ orders the girl, short and sharp, ‘another napkin.’ He brings her one, respectful.

“I never saw more devil, if I may say it, stirred up in a lady. There was two bright red spots on her cheeks, and her eyes looked exactly like a wild cat’s I’d seen in the Zoo. Her foot kept slapping the floor all the time.

“ ‘Waiter,’ she orders, ‘bring me filtered water without ice. Bring me a footstool. Take away this empty salt-cellar.’ She kept him on the jump. She was sure giving the halberdier his.

“There wasn’t but a few customers up in the slosh at that time, so I hung out near the door so I could help Sir Percival serve.

“He got along fine with the olives and celery and the blue-points. They were easy. And then the consommé came up the dumb-waiter all in one big silver tureen. Instead of serving it from the side-table, he picks it up between his hands and starts to the dining-table with it. When nearly there he drops the tureen smash on the floor, and the soup soaks all the lower part of that girl’s swell silk dress.

“ ‘Stupid—incompetent,’ says she, giving him a look. ‘Standing in a corner with a halberd seems to be your mission in life.’

“ ‘Pardon me, lady,’ says he. ‘It was just a little bit hotter than blazes. I couldn’t help it.’

“The old man pulls out a memorandum book and hunts in it. ‘The 25th of April, Deering,’ says he. ‘I know it,’ says Sir Percival. ‘And ten minutes to twelve o’clock,’ says the old man. ‘By Jupiter! you haven’t won yet.’ And he pounds the table with his fist and yells to me: ‘Waiter, call the manager at once—tell him to hurry here as fast as he can.’ I go after the boss, and old Brockmann hikes up to the slosh on the jump.

“I want this man discharged at once,’ roars the old guy. ‘Look what he’s done. Ruined my daughter’s dress. It cost at least $600. Discharge this awkward lout at once, or I’ll sue you for the price of it.’

“ ‘Dis is bad pizness,’ says the boss. ‘Six hundred dollars is much. I reckon I vill haf to—’