The head-waiter, a stout impassive German, had taken his stand on a
point of etiquette. "Id is," he said, "to bring gats into der
grill-room vorbidden. No gendleman would gats into der grill-room
bring. Der gendleman--"

The young man meanwhile was making enticing sounds, to which the
cat was maintaining an attitude of reserved hostility. He turned
furiously on the head-waiter.

"For goodness' sake," he cried, "can't you see the poor brute's
scared stiff? Why don't you clear your gang of German comedians
away, and give her a chance to come down?"

"Der gendleman--" argued the head-waiter.

Psmith stepped forward and touched him on the arm.

"May I have a word with you in private?"

"Zo?"

Psmith drew him away.

"You don't know who that is?" he whispered, nodding towards the
young man.

"No gendleman he is," asserted the head-waiter. "Der gendleman
would not der gat into--"

Psmith shook his head pityingly.