“Well done,” said Archie.
“Sare?”
“The steak. Not too rare, you know.”
“Very good, sare.”
Archie looked at the waiter closely. His tone had been subdued and sad. Of course, you don’t expect a waiter to beam all over his face and give three rousing cheers simply because you have asked him to bring you a minute steak, but still there was something about Salvatore’s manner that disturbed Archie. The man appeared to have the pip. Whether he was merely homesick and brooding on the lost delights of his sunny native land, or whether his trouble was more definite, could only be ascertained by enquiry. So Archie enquired.
“What’s the matter, laddie?” he said sympathetically. “Something on your mind?”
“Sare?”
“I say, there seems to be something on your mind. What’s the trouble?”
The waiter shrugged his shoulders, as if indicating an unwillingness to inflict his grievances on one of the tipping classes.
“Come on!” persisted Archie encouragingly. “All pals here. Barge along, old thing, and let’s have it.”