"Spring lock," he grumbled, a thumb over his shoulder, "opens outside."
Whatever resemblance to a soldier he might have previously shown while in uniform was now entirely banished. Bareheaded, his bald dome of thought shining in the candle-light, his round, solemn face, with big innocent gray eyes gazing at me, an apron about his fat waist, the fellow presented an almost ludicrous appearance. Somehow my heart warmed to him, especially as I perceived the tray, heavily laden, which he bore easily on one arm, and the towel flung over his shoulder. And as I stared at him his movements became professional. Silently, solemnly, his mind strictly upon his duties, he wiped off the table top, and arranged the various dishes thereon with the greatest care, polishing cups and glasses, and finally placing one of the chairs in position. Stepping back, napkin still upon arm, he bowed silently. I took the seat indicated, and glanced up into his almost expressionless face.
"Peter, you old fraud," I said swiftly, "have you eaten?"
"Not as yet, sir," his voice showing just the proper tone of deference, his eyes staring straight ahead.
"Then take that chair and sit down."
"Oh, no, sir; indeed, sir, I am not at all hungry, sir."
I squared myself, fingering the knife at my plate.
"Peter," I said, sternly, "I'm a better man than you are, and you'll either sit down there and eat with me, or I'll lick you within an inch of your life. There is food enough here for three men, and I want company."
He rubbed his hand across his lips, and I caught a gleam of intelligence in his eyes.
"Well, sir, seeing you put it in that way, sir," he confessed, almost as though in regret, "I hardly see how I can refuse. It is very flattering, sir." He drew up the other chair and sat down opposite me. "Would you care for a glass of wine first, sir?" he asked solicitously. "It has been a rather dusty ride."