recognise you by that?"

"Excuse, Sir," says he, "but at the club he would speak to me as Mike."

"Oh, at the club, eh?" says I. "Say, I'm beginnin' to get a glimmer.
Been workin' at one of Mr. Robert's clubs, have you?"

"I am his waiter for long time, Sir," says Popover.

Course, the rest was simple. He'd quit two or three months ago to take
a trip back home, havin' been promised by the head steward that he
could have his place again any time inside of a year. But imagine the
base perfidy! A second cousin of the meat chef has drifted in
meanwhile, been set to work at Popover's old tables, and the result is
that when Mike reports to claim his job he gets the cold, heartless
chuck.

"Why not rustle another, then?" says I.

You'd thought, though, to see the gloomy way he shakes his head, that
this was the last chance he had left. I gather too that club jobs are
fairly well paid, steadier than most kinds of work, and harder to pick
up.

"Also," he adds, sort of shy, "there is Armina."

"Oh, always!" says I. "Bunch of millinery in the offing. It never
fails. You're her steady, eh?"

Popover smiles grateful and pours out details. Armina was a fine girl,