“Pardon me, sir, I am the manager of the private rooms.”
“I say that you need not wait.”
“Very well, sir, as you please; but I am no waiter.”
Yet he acted as if he were a waiter, which did seem a little impertinent. But he managed with such dexterity, that, without an actual scene, it would have been difficult to keep him out of the room.
People in his position nearly always are good-looking, after a fashion of their own, which is a fashion I detest. As regards looks he was certainly up to the average of his kind; indeed, I should have said a good deal above it, only the expression of opinion would not have been popular just then. He was an enormous man, perhaps six foot three or four, with tremendous width across the chest, and the most magnificent moustache. It was the finest moustache I had ever seen, and curled up at the ends in a way which made you keep on wondering how he did it. He had fair hair which curled naturally, and was parted in the middle, and the bluest eyes. Of course he was a German; and when you paused to think that his compatriots could afford to allow such a man as he was to go abroad and be a waiter, and never notice his absence, then you began to understand how it is that Germany bids fair to take her stand in the highest places.
At the same time, his conduct did make the position seem a trifle strained, even more strained than it would have been without him, which was saying something. He might call himself the manager of the private rooms; but, despite Mr Carter, he succeeded in combining with his management a good deal of personal attention to me,—and that with an air which reminded me irresistibly of the shop-walker and the barber; and which I saw quite plainly brought my own five men nearly to the boiling point.
For my own part, I do not care what I eat. But when I am eating I do not like to feel that at any moment plates may be thrown about. I had the feeling throughout that dinner. A note of discord was in the air, in fact, several notes. My companions grumbled at all the dishes, regardless of my presence. They reviled the meal as a whole, and in its several parts, declining to admit that it had a single redeeming feature. One is bound to confess that that private room manager’s demeanour was in striking contrast to that of his guests. They did nearly everything, short of throwing things at his head. He, on the other hand, was imperturbability itself; to me, the soul of politeness. And though he looked as if he could have knocked all their heads together, he listened to the nasty things they said—and they said some nasty ones—with a smile which never faltered for a single second.
The climax came with the bill. Major Tibbet approached the subject in a style which I had not supposed was customary when a lady was present.
“I suppose we are going to the theatre; and its certainly no use our lingering over this travesty of a Christian meal. I must apologise to you, Miss Norah, for what you have suffered; but I trust you will do me the justice to admit that the fault is hardly mine.”
“Thank you; I have enjoyed my dinner very much.”