notice with any attention the assiduous young waiter. Although not old
enough to have given any thought to the anomaly of youth (though lowly)
attending upon youth (though gilded) at its meals in this way--not old
enough indeed to have pondered at all upon the relations of Capital and
Labour or of the domineering and the servile--he had reflected a good
deal upon the cut and fit of clothes, and there was something about the
waiting-boy's evening coat that outraged his critical sense. Nor did the
fact that the other's indifferent tailoring throw the perfection of his
own into such brilliant contrast--the similarity between the livery of
service and the male costume _de luxe_ fostering such comparisons--make
him any more lenient.

"Did you ever see," he asked his neighbour, "such a coat-collar as that
waiting Johnnie's? I ask you. How can anyone, even a waiter, wear a
thing like that? Don't they ever see themselves in the glass, or if they
do can't they see straight? Why, it covers his collar altogether."

His companion agreed. "And the shoulders! You'd have thought that in a
restaurant like this the management would be more particular. By George,
that's a jolly pretty girl coming in! Look--over there, just under the
clock, with the red hair." And the waiter was forgotten. Only, however,
by his table critics, for at that moment a little woman who had made
friends with the hall-porter for this express purpose was peering
through the window of the entrance, searching the room for her son. She
had never yet seen him at his work at all, and certainly not in his
grand waiting clothes, and naturally she wanted to.

"Ah!" she said at last, pointing the boy out to the porter, "there he
is! At that table with all the young gentlemen. Doesn't he look fine?
And don't they fit him beautifully? Why, no one would know the