Stories by English Authors in London(英国作家在伦敦的故事)

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STORIES

by English Authors in London

STORIES

THE INCONSIDERATE WAITER

BY J. M. BARRIE

Frequently I have to ask myself in the street for the name of the man I

bowed to just now, and then, before I can answer, the wind of the first

corner blows him from my memory. I have a theory, however, that those

puzzling faces, which pass before I can see who cut the coat, all belong to

club waiters.

Until William forced his affairs upon me that was all I did know of the

private life of waiters, though I have been in the club for twenty 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

STORIES

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 distinguish

one waiter from another much as we pick our hat from the rack. We could

have plotted a murder safely before William. He never presumed to have

any opinions of his own. When such was my mood he remained silent, and

if I announced that something diverting had happened to me he laughed

before I told him what it was. He turned the twinkle in his eye off or on at

my bidding as readily as if it was the gas. To my "Sure to be wet to-

morrow," he would reply, "Yes, sir;" and to Trelawney's "It doesn't look

like rain," two minutes afterward, he would reply, "No, sir." It was one

member who said Lightning Rod would win the Derby and another who

said Lightning Rod had no chance, but it was William who agreed with

both. He was like a cheroot, which may be smoked from either end. So

used was I to him that, had he died or got another situation (or whatever it

is such persons do when they disappear from the club), I should probably

have told the head waiter to bring him back, as I disliked changes.

It would not become me to know precisely when I began to think

William an ingrate, but I date his lapse from the evening when he brought

me oysters. I detest oysters, and no one knew it better than William. He

has agreed with me that he could not understand any gentleman's liking

them. Between me and a certain member who smacks his lips twelve times

to a dozen of them William knew I liked a screen to be placed until we had

reached the soup, and yet he gave me the oysters and the other man my

sardine. Both the other member and I quickly called for brandy and the

head waiter. To do William justice, he shook, but never can I forget his

audacious explanation: "Beg pardon, sir, but I was thinking of something

else."

In these words William had flung off the mask, and now I knew him

for what he was.

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

STORIES

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

then took place. To get nearer the window he pressed heavily on my

shoulder.

"William, you forget yourself!" I said, meaning--as I see now--that he

had forgotten me.

I heard him gulp, but not to my reprimand. He was scanning the street.

His hands chattered on my shoulder, and, pushing him from me, I saw that

his mouth was agape.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

He stared at me, and then, like one who had at last heard the echo of

my question, seemed to be brought back to the club. He turned his face

from me for an instant, and answered shakily:

STORIES

"I beg your pardon, sir! I--I shouldn't have done it. Are the bananas too

ripe, sir?"

He recommended the nuts, and awaited my verdict so anxiously while

I ate one that I was about to speak graciously, when I again saw his eyes

drag him to the window.

"William," I said, my patience giving way at last, "I dislike being

waited on by a melancholy waiter."

"Yes, sir," he replied, trying to smile, and then broke out passionately,

"For God's sake, sir, tell me, have you seen a little girl booking in at the

club windows?"

He had been a good waiter once, and his distracted visage was spoiling

my dinner.

"There," I said, pointing to the girl, and no doubt would have added

that he must bring me coffee immediately, had he continued to listen. But

already he was beckoning to the child. I have not the least interest in her

(indeed, it had never struck me that waiters had private affairs, and I still

think it a pity that they should have); but as I happened to be looking out

at the window I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soon as the girl

saw William she ran into the street, regardless of vehicles, and nodded

three times to him. Then she disappeared.

I have said that she was quite a common child, without attraction of

any sort, and yet it was amazing the difference she made in William. He

gasped relief, like one who had broken through the anxiety that checks

breathing, and into his face there came a silly laugh of happiness. I had

dined well, on the whole, so I said:

"I am glad to see you cheerful again, William."

I meant that I approved his cheerfulness because it helped my

digestion, but he must needs think I was sympathising with him.

"Thank you, sir," he answered. "Oh, sir! when she nodded and I saw it

was all right I could have gone down on my knees to God."

I was as much horrified as if he had dropped a plate on my toes. Even

William, disgracefully emotional as he was at the moment, flung out his

arms to recall the shameful words.

"Coffee, William!" I said, sharply.

STORIES

I sipped my coffee indignantly, for it was plain to me that William had

something on his mind.

"You are not vexed with me, sir?" he had the hardihood to whisper.

"It was a liberty," I said.

"I know, sir; but I was beside myself."

"That was a liberty also."

He hesitated, and then blurted out:

"It is my wife, sir. She--"

I stopped him with my hand. William, whom I had favoured in so

many ways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years

before had I ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class

did this sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I said

warningly:

"Remember where you are, William."

"Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate--"

"Delicate! I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics."

"Yes, sir; begging your pardon."

It was characteristic of William to beg my pardon and withdraw his

wife, like some unsuccessful dish, as if its taste would not remain in the

mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him further about his wife, but,

though doubtless an unusual step, it was only bad form superficially, for

my motive was irreproachable. I inquired for his wife, not because I was

interested in her welfare, but in the hope of allaying my irritation. So I am

entitled to invite the wayfarer who has bespattered me with mud to scrape

it off.

I desired to be told by William that the girl's signals meant his wife's

recovery to health. He should have seen that such was my wish and

answered accordingly. But, with the brutal inconsiderateness of his class,

he said:

"She has had a good day; but the doctor, he--the doctor is afeard she is

dying."

Already I repented my questions. William and his wife seemed in

league against me, when they might so easily have chosen some other

member.

STORIES

"Pooh! the doctor," I said.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Have you been married long, William?"

"Eight years, sir. Eight years ago she was--I--I mind her when . . . and

now the doctor says--"

The fellow gaped at me. "More coffee, sir?" he asked.

"What is her ailment?"

"She was always one of the delicate kind, but full of spirit, and--and

you see, she has had a baby lately--"

"William!"

"And she--I--the doctor is afeard she's not picking up."

"I feel sure she will pick up."

"Yes, sir?"

It must have been the wine I had drunk that made me tell him:

"I was once married, William. My wife--it was just such a case as

yours."

"She did not get better sir?"

"No."

After a pause he said, "Thank you, sir," meaning for the sympathy that

made me tell him that. But it must have been the wine.

"That little girl comes here with a message from your wife?"

"Yes; if she nods three times it means my wife is a little better."

"She nodded thrice to-day."

"But she is told to do that to relieve me, and maybe those nods don't

tell the truth."

"Is she your girl?"

"No; we have none but the baby. She is a neighbour's; she comes twice

a day."

"It is heartless of her parents not to send her every hour."

"But she is six years old," he said, "and has a house and two sisters to

look after in the daytime, and a dinner to cook. Gentlefolk don't

understand."

"I suppose you live in some low part, William."

"Off Drury Lane," he answered, flushing; "but--but it isn't low. You see,

STORIES

we were never used to anything better, and I mind when I let her see the

house before we were married, she--she a sort of cried because she was so

proud of it. That was eight years ago, and now--she's afeard she'll die

when I'm away at my work."

"Did she tell you that?"

"Never; she always says she is feeling a little stronger."

"Then how can you know she is afraid of that?"

"I don't know how I know, sir; but when I am leaving the house in the

morning I look at her from the door, and she looks at me, and then I-- I

know."

"A green chartreuse, William!"

I tried to forget William's vulgar story in billiards, but he had spoiled

my game. My opponent, to whom I can give twenty, ran out when I was

sixty-seven, and I put aside my cue pettishly. That in itself was bad form,

but what would they have thought had they known that a waiter's

impertinence caused it! I grew angrier with William as the night wore on,

and next day I punished him by giving my orders through another waiter.

As I had my window-seat, I could not but see that the girl was late

again. Somehow I dawdled over my coffee. I had an evening paper before

me, but there was so little in it that my eyes found more of interest in the

street. It did not matter to me whether William's wife died, but when that

girl had promised to come, why did she not come? These lower classes

only give their word to break it. The coffee was undrinkable.

At last I saw her. William was at another window, pretending to do

something with the curtains. I stood up, pressing closer to the window. The

coffee had been so bad that I felt shaky. She nodded three times, and

smiled.

"She is a little better," William whispered to me, almost gaily.

"Whom are you speaking of?" I asked, coldly, and immediately retired

to the billiard-room, where I played a capital game. The coffee was much

better there than in the dining-room.

Several days passed, and I took care to show William that I had

forgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the little girl (though I never

STORIES

looked for her) every evening, and she always nodded three times, save

once, when she shook her head, and then William's face grew white as a

napkin. I remember this incident because that night I could not get into a

pocket. So badly did I play that the thought of it kept me awake in bed,

and that, again, made me wonder how William's wife was. Next day I

went to the club early (which was not my custom) to see the new books.

Being in the club at any rate, I looked into the dining-room to ask William

if I had left my gloves there, and the sight of him reminded me of his wife;

so I asked for her. He shook his head mournfully, and I went off in a rage.

So accustomed am I to the club that when I dine elsewhere I feel

uncomfortable next morning, as if I had missed a dinner. William knew

this; yet here he was, hounding me out of the club! That evening I dined

(as the saying is) at a restaurant, where no sauce was served with the

asparagus. Furthermore, as if that were not triumph enough for William,

his doleful face came between me and every dish, and I seemed to see his

wife dying to annoy me.

I dined next day at the club for self-preservation, taking, however, a

table in the middle of the room, and engaging a waiter who had once

nearly poisoned me by not interfering when I put two lumps of sugar into

my coffee instead of one, which is my allowance. But no William came to

me to acknowledge his humiliation, and by-and-by I became aware that he

was not in the room. Suddenly the thought struck me that his wife must be

dead, and I-- It was the worst cooked and the worst served dinner I ever

had in the club.

I tried the smoking-room. Usually the talk there is entertaining, but on

that occasion it was so frivolous that I did not remain five minutes. In the

card-room a member told me excitedly that a policeman had spoken

rudely to him; and my strange comment was:

"After all, it is a small matter."

In the library, where I had not been for years, I found two members

asleep, and, to my surprise, William on a ladder dusting books.

"You have not heard, sir?" he said, in answer to my raised eyebrows.

Descending the ladder, he whispered tragically: "It was last evening, sir. I-

-I lost my head, and I--swore at a member."

STORIES

I stepped back from William, and glanced apprehensively at the two

members. They still slept.

"I hardly knew," William went on, "what I was doing all day yesterday,

for I had left my wife so weakly that--"

I stamped my foot.

"I beg your pardon for speaking of her," he had the grace to say, "but I

couldn't help slipping up to the window often yesterday to look for Jenny,

and when she did come, and I saw she was crying, it--it sort of confused

me, and I didn't know right, sir, what I was doing. I hit against a member,

Mr. Myddleton Finch, and he--he jumped and swore at me. Well, sir, I had

just touched him after all, and I was so miserable, it a kind of stung me to

be treated like--like that, and me a man as well as him; and I lost my

senses, and--and I swore back."

William's shamed head sank on his chest, but I even let pass his

insolence in likening himself to a member of the club, so afraid was I of

the sleepers waking and detecting me in talk with a waiter.

"For the love of God," William cried, with coarse emotion, "don't let

them dismiss me!"

"Speak lower!" I said. "Who sent you here?"

"I was turned out of the dining-room at once, and told to attend to the

library until they had decided what to do with me. Oh, sir, I'll lose my

place!"

He was blubbering, as if a change of waiters, was a matter of

importance.

"This is very bad, William," I said. "I fear I can do nothing for you."

"Have mercy on a distracted man!" he entreated. "I'll go on my knees

to Mr. Myddleton Finch."

How could I but despise a fellow who would be thus abject for a

pound a week?

"I dare not tell her," he continued, "that I have lost my place. She

would just fall back and die."

"I forbade your speaking of your wife," I said, sharply, "unless you can

speak pleasantly of her."

"But she may be worse now, sir, and I cannot even see Jenny from here.

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STORIES1STORIESbyEnglishAuthorsinLondonSTORIES2THEINCONSIDERATEWAITERBYJ.M.BARRIEFrequentlyIhavetoaskmyselfinthestreetforthenameofthemanIbowedtojustnow,andthen,beforeIcananswer,thewindofthefirstcornerblowshimfrommymemory.Ihaveatheory,however,thatthosepuzzlingfaces,whichpassbeforeIcanseewhocutthecoat...

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Stories by English Authors in London(英国作家在伦敦的故事)

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