“Even I could see that this stuff was piffle; but it caught the boss.

“‘Mein Gott,’ says he, ’you vas right.  Ein halberdier have not got der right to dish up soup.  Him I vill not discharge.  Have anoder waiter if you like, und let mein halberdier go back und stand mit his halberd.  But, gentlemen,’ he says, pointing to the old man, ’you go ahead and sue mit der dress.  Sue me for $600 or $6,000.  I stand der suit.’  And the boss puffs off down-stairs.  Old Brockmann was an all-right Dutchman.

“Just then the clock strikes twelve, and the old guy laughs loud.  ‘You win, Deering,’ says he.  ‘And let me explain to all,’ he goes on.  ’Some time ago Mr. Deering asked me for something that I did not want to give him.’ (I looks at the girl, and she turns as red as a pickled beet.) ‘I told him,’ says the old guy, ’if he would earn his own living for three months without being discharged for incompetence, I would give him what he wanted.  It seems that the time was up at twelve o’clock to-night.  I came near fetching you, though, Deering, on that soup question,’ says the old boy, standing up and grabbing Sir Percival’s hand.

“The halberdier lets out a yell and jumps three feet high.

“‘Look out for those hands,’ says he, and he holds ’em up.  You never saw such hands except on a labourer in a limestone quarry.

“‘Heavens, boy!’ says old side-whiskers, ’what have you been doing to ’em?’

“‘Oh,’ says Sir Percival, ’little chores like hauling coal and excavating rock till they went back on me.  And when I couldn’t hold a pick or a whip I took up halberdiering to give ’em a rest.  Tureens full of hot soup don’t seem to be a particularly soothing treatment.’

“I would have bet on that girl.  That high-tempered kind always go as far the other way, according to my experience.  She whizzes round the table like a cyclone and catches both his hands in hers.  ’Poor hands—­dear hands,’ she sings out, and sheds tears on ’em and holds ’em close to her bosom.  Well, sir, with all that Rindslosh scenery it was just like a play.  And the halberdier sits down at the table at the girl’s side, and I served the rest of the supper.  And that was about all, except that when they left he shed his hardware store and went with ’em.”

I dislike to be side-tracked from an original proposition.

“But you haven’t told me, Eighteen,” said I, “how the cigar-case came to be broken.”

“Oh, that was last night,” said Eighteen.  “Sir Percival and the girl drove up in a cream-coloured motor-car, and had dinner in the Rindslosh.  ‘The same table, Billy,’ I heard her say as they went up.  I waited on ’em.  We’ve got a new halberdier now, a bow-legged guy with a face like a sheep.  As they came down-stairs Sir Percival passes him a ten-case note.  The new halberdier drops his halberd, and it falls on the cigar-case.  That’s how that happened.”

XXI