Northcote looked at the card again, and then ordered a couple of dishes, the names of which conveyed nothing to me. "And bring up a bottle of '93 Heidsieck," he added, "and some of that old liqueur brandy."
The man bowed, and after pulling out our chairs from the table, noiselessly left the room. I could not help wondering whether the extraordinary likeness between Northcote and myself had struck him; but if it had, he had betrayed no sign of having noticed it.
"I always think a really good head waiter," I observed, "is the most extraordinary work of art in the world."
"Yes," said Northcote, seating himself at the table, "and, in consequence, the most contemptible."
"That seems rather ungrateful," I remarked.
Northcote looked at me keenly. "Can you imagine any man who was not wholly contemptible deliberately moulding himself into a piece of servile machinery in order to get an easy living? I have infinitely more respect for a thief than a successful waiter."
I laughed. "I dare say you are right," I answered. "Anyway, I must admit that I would sooner be a thief if I had to choose."
"What are you?" asked Northcote abruptly.
The question took me by surprise, and for a moment I hesitated.
"I am not asking out of mere curiosity," he said.