I must not be accused of bad form for looking at William on the
following evening. What prompted me to do so was not personal interest
in him, but a desire to see whether I dare let him wait on me again. So,
recalling that a caster was off a chair yesterday, one is entitled to
make sure that it is on to-day before sitting down. If the expression
is not too strong, I may say that I was taken aback by William's manner.
Even when crossing the room to take my orders he let his one hand play
nervously with the other. I had to repeat "Sardine on toast" twice, and
instead of answering "Yes, sir," as if my selection of sardine on toast
was a personal gratification to him, which is the manner one expects
of a waiter, he glanced at the clock, then out at the window, and,
starting, asked, "Did you say sardine on toast, sir?"

It was the height of summer, when London smells like a chemist's shop,
and he who has the dinner-table at the window needs no candles to
show him his knife and fork. I lay back at intervals, now watching a
starved-looking woman sleep on a door-step, and again complaining of the
club bananas. By-and-by I saw a girl of the commonest kind, ill-clad and
dirty, as all these Arabs are. Their parents should be compelled to feed
and clothe them comfortably, or at least to keep them indoors, where
they cannot offend our eyes. Such children are for pushing aside with
one's umbrella; but this girl I noticed because she was gazing at the
club windows. She had stood thus for perhaps ten minutes when I became
aware that some one was leaning over me to look out at the window. I
turned round. Conceive my indignation on seeing that the rude person was
William.

"How dare you, William?" I said, sternly. He seemed not to hear me. Let
me tell, in the measured words of one describing a past incident, what