At this moment a tall, awkward-looking youth, attired in a home-spun suit of gray frieze, ill-fitting if not shabby, slowly arose from a table right opposite, and, lounging over, quietly asked:
“Will I do?”
“Do what, sir?” demanded the irate Saxon.
“Wait on you.”
“Wait on me? You are not a waiter.”
“I am an Irishman; perhaps I might be able to please you better than my countryman.”
Pommery leaned over to Percival:
“There’s some fun here.”
“There’s danger,” was the reply.
The bully stared very hard at the young Irishman, surveying him from head to foot.