To my amazement who should presently appear among my throng of
luncheon patrons but the Honourable George. I will not say that he
slunk in, but there was an unaccustomed diffidence in his bearing. He
did not meet my eye, and it was not difficult to perceive that he had
no wish to engage my notice. As he sought a vacant table I observed
that he was spotted quite profusely, and his luncheon order was of the
simplest.
Straight I went to him. He winced a bit, I thought, as he saw me
approach, but then he apparently resolved to brass it out, for he
glanced full at me with a terrific assumption of bravado and at once
began to give me beans about my service.
"Your bally tea shop running down, what! Louts for waiters, cloddish
louts! Disgraceful, my word! Slow beggars! Take a year to do you a
rasher and a bit of toast, what!"
To this absurd tirade I replied not a word, but stood silently
regarding him. I dare say my gaze was of the most chilling character
and steady. He endured it but a moment. His eyes fell, his bravado
vanished, he fumbled with the cutlery. Quite abashed he was.
"Come, your explanation!" I said curtly, divining that the moment was
one in which to adopt a tone with him. He wriggled a bit, crumpling a
roll with panic fingers.
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