"And what are real _vaktmästare_ doing?"

"The real ones work in government departments--not as officials, but
just as attendants--it's something you can't understand yet."

Keith nodded. He didn't understand, but the words stuck and the
understanding came later.

"And those that are not real," he persisted.

His mother laughed and patted him on the head.

"There is a lot of them," she said. "They look after coats and hats in
theatres and restaurants, and wait at dinners, and do all sorts
of things."

"Was that what grandfather was doing?"

A queer look came into his mother's eyes and sent a glow of
self-satisfaction through his whole being. The look was familiar to him
and meant that his mother was annoyed by the question but pleased with
his cleverness in thinking of it.

"No," she answered, "not exactly...."

"What did he do," asked Keith, and as he spoke he sent a look of
anticipation toward his own corner.

"He was an attendant in the big club where all the rich business-men go