"I have accepted this man, Paul Schmidt, as a member of the No. 1 Branch of the Waiters' Union," he announced. "Paul Schmidt, listen attentively, and you will understand in outline what the responsibilities are that you have undertaken."
There was a short silence. The men at the table looked at me, and I looked at them. I was not in any way ill at ease, but I felt a terrible inclination to laugh. The whole affair seemed to me a little ludicrous. There was nothing in the appearance of these men or the surroundings in the least impressive. They had the air of being unintelligent middle-class tradesmen of peaceable disposition, who had just dined to their fullest capacity, and were enjoying a comfortable smoke together. They eyed me amicably, and several of them nodded in a friendly way. I was forced to say something, or I must have laughed outright.
"I should like to know," I said, "what is expected of me."
An exceedingly fat man, whom I had noticed as the companion of the lady upstairs in the sailor hat, beckoned me to stand before him.
"Paul Schmidt," he said, "listen to me! You are a German born?"
"Without doubt," I answered.
"The love of your fatherland is still in your heart?"
"Always!" I answered fervently.
"Also with all of us," he answered. "You have lived in America so long, that a few words of explanation may be necessary. So!"
Now this man's voice, unimpressive though his appearance was, seemed somehow to create a new atmosphere in the place. He spoke very slowly, and he spoke as a man speaks of the things which are sacred to him.