years. I was even unaware whether they slept downstairs or had their own
homes; nor had I the interest to inquire of other members, nor they the
knowledge to inform me. I hold that this sort of people should be fed
and clothed and given airing and wives and children, and I subscribe
yearly, I believe for these purposes; but to come into closer relation
with waiters is bad form; they are club fittings, and William should
have kept his distress to himself, or taken it away and patched it up
like a rent in one of the chairs. His inconsiderateness has been a pair
of spectacles to me for months.

It is not correct taste to know the name of a club waiter, so I must
apologise for knowing William's, and still more for not forgetting it.
If, again, to speak of a waiter is bad form, to speak bitterly is the
comic degree of it. But William has disappointed me sorely. There were
years when I would defer dining several minutes that he might wait
on me. His pains to reserve the window-seat for me were perfectly
satisfactory. I allowed him privileges, as to suggest dishes, and
would give him information, as that some one had startled me in the
reading-room by slamming a door. I have shown him how I cut my finger
with a piece of string. Obviously he was gratified by these attentions,
usually recommending a liqueur; and I fancy he must have understood my
sufferings, for he often looked ill himself. Probably he was rheumatic,
but I cannot say for certain, as I never thought of asking, and he had
the sense to see that the knowledge would be offensive to me.

In the smoking-room we have a waiter so independent that once, when
he brought me a yellow chartreuse, and I said I had ordered green,
he replied, "No, sir; you said yellow." William could never have been
guilty of such effrontery. In appearance, of course, he is mean, but I
can no more describe him than a milkmaid could draw cows. I suppose we