me here."

I went away then, thinking harder than ever. At dinner Jonesy done the
waiting, but Mabel wa'n't on deck. She had a headache, the cook said,
and was lying down. 'Twas the same way at supper, and after supper Peter
Brown comes to me, all broke up, and says he:

"There's merry clink to pay," he says. "Mabel's going to leave."

"No?" says I. "She ain't neither!"

"Yes, she is. She says she's going to-morrer. She won't tell me why, and
I've argued with her for two hours. She's going to quit, and I'd rather
enough sight quit myself. What'll we do?" says he.

I couldn't help him none, and he went away, moping and miserable. All
round the place everybody was talking about the "lovely" new waiter,
and to hear the girls go on you'd think the Prince of Wales had landed.
Jonadab was the only kicker, and he said 'twas bad enough afore, but
now that new dude had shipped, 'twa'n't the place for a decent,
self-respecting man.

"How you goin' to order that Grand Panjandrum around?" he says. "Great
land of Goshen! I'd as soon think of telling the Pope of Rome to empty
a pail of swill as I would him. Why don't he stay to home and be a
tailor's sign or something? Not prance around here with his high-toned
airs. I'm glad you've got him, Barzilla, and not me."

Well, most of that was plain jealousy, so I didn't contradict. Besides
I was too busy thinking. By eight o'clock I'd made up my mind and I went