“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.  The library windows look to the back.”

“If she dies,” I said, “it will be a warning to you to marry a stronger woman next time.”

Now every one knows that there is little real affection among the lower orders.  As soon as they have lost one mate they take another.  Yet William, forgetting our relative positions, drew himself up and raised his fist, and if I had not stepped back I swear he would have struck me.

The highly improper words William used I will omit, out of consideration for him.  Even while he was apologising for them I retired to the smoking-room, where I found the cigarettes so badly rolled that they would not keep alight.  After a little I remembered that I wanted to see Myddleton Finch about an improved saddle of which a friend of his has the patent.  He was in the newsroom, and, having questioned him about the saddle, I said: 

“By the way, what is this story about your swearing at one of the waiters?”

“You mean about his swearing at me,” Myddleton Finch replied, reddening.

“I am glad that was it,” I said; “for I could not believe you guilty of such bad form.”

“If I did swear—­” he was beginning, but I went on: 

“The version which has reached me was that you swore at him, and he repeated the word.  I heard he was to be dismissed and you reprimanded.”

“Who told you that?” asked Myddleton Finch, who is a timid man.

“I forget; it is club talk,” I replied, lightly.  “But of course the committee will take your word.  The waiter, whichever one he is, richly deserves his dismissal for insulting you without provocation.”

Then our talk returned to the saddle, but Myddleton Finch was abstracted, and presently he said: 

“Do you know, I fancy I was wrong in thinking that the waiter swore at me, and I’ll withdraw my charge to-morrow.”

Myddleton Finch then left me, and, sitting alone, I realised that I had been doing William a service.  To some slight extent I may have intentionally helped him to retain his place in the club, and I now see the reason, which was that he alone knows precisely to what extent I like my claret heated.