“Sir Percival kind of rattles his armour and says:  ’Helen, will you suspend sentence in this matter for just a little while?  You don’t understand,’ says he.  ’I’ve got to hold this job down a little longer.’

“‘You like being a harlequin—­or halberdier, as you call it?’ says she.

“‘I wouldn’t get thrown out of the job just now,’ says he, with a grin, ‘to be appointed Minister to the Court of St. James’s.’

“And then the 40-H.P. girl’s eyes sparkled as hard as diamonds.

“‘Very well,’ says she.  ’You shall have full run of your serving-man’s tastes this night.’  And she swims over to the boss’s desk and gives him a smile that knocks the specks off his nose.

“‘I think your Rindslosh,’ says she, ’is as beautiful as a dream.  It is a little slice of the Old World set down in New York.  We shall have a nice supper up there; but if you will grant us one favour the illusion will be perfect—­give us your halberdier to wait on our table.’

“That hits the boss’s antiology hobby just right.  ‘Sure,’ says he, ’dot vill be fine.  Und der orchestra shall blay “Die Wacht am Rhein” all der time.’  And he goes over and tells the halberdier to go upstairs and hustle the grub at the swells’ table.

“‘I’m on the job,’ says Sir Percival, taking off his helmet and hanging it on his halberd and leaning ’em in the corner.  The girl goes up and takes her seat and I see her jaw squared tight under her smile.  ‘We’re going to be waited on by a real halberdier,’ says she, ‘one who is proud of his profession.  Isn’t it sweet?’

“‘Ripping,’ says the swell young man.  ‘Much prefer a waiter,’ says the fat old gent.  ‘I hope he doesn’t come from a cheap museum,’ says the old lady; ‘he might have microbes in his costume.’

“Before he goes to the table, Sir Percival takes me by the arm.  ‘Eighteen,’ he says, ’I’ve got to pull off this job without a blunder.  You coach me straight or I’ll take that halberd and make hash out of you.’  And then he goes up to the table with his coat of mail on and a napkin over his arm and waits for the order.

“‘Why, it’s Deering!’ says the young swell.  ’Hello, old man.  What the—­’

“‘Beg pardon, sir,’ interrupts the halberdier, ’I’m waiting on the table.’

“The old man looks at him grim, like a Boston bull.  ‘So, Deering,’ he says, ‘you’re at work yet.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ says Sir Percival, quiet and gentlemanly as I could have been myself, ‘for almost three months, now.’  ’You haven’t been discharged during the time?’ asks the old man.  ‘Not once, sir,’ says he, ‘though I’ve had to change my work several times.’

“‘Waiter,’ orders the girl, short and sharp, ‘another napkin.’  He brings her one, respectful.

“I never saw more devil, if I may say it, stirred up in a lady.  There was two bright red spots on her cheeks, and her eyes looked exactly like a wildcat’s I’d seen in the zoo.  Her foot kept slapping the floor all the time.