Waiter.  Yes, sare.

Little man.  Thank you very much.

     [The waiter goes.]

American. [Pausing in the deglutition of his eggs—­affably] Pardon me, sir; I’d like to have you tell me why you called that little bit of a feller “Herr Ober.”  Reckon you would know what that means?  Mr. Head Waiter.

Little man.  Yes, yes.

American.  I smile.

Little man.  Oughtn’t I to call him that?

German. [Abruptly] ‘Nein—­Kellner’.

American.  Why, yes!  Just “waiter.”

     [The ENGLISHWOMAN looks round her paper for a second.  The Dutch
     youth stops eating and laughs.  The little man gazes from face
     to face and nurses his hat.]

Little man.  I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

German.  Gott!

American.  In my country we’re very democratic—­but that’s quite a proposition.

Englishman. [Handling coffee-pot, to his wife] More?

ENGLISHWOMAN.  No, thanks.

German. [Abruptly] These fellows—­if you treat them in this manner, at once they take liberties.  You see, you will not get your beer.

     [As he speaks the waiter returns, bringing the little man’s
     beer, then retires.]

American.  That ’pears to be one up to democracy. [To the little
man] I judge you go in for brotherhood?

Little man. [Startled] Oh, no!

American.  I take considerable stock in Leo Tolstoi myself.  Grand man—­grand-souled apparatus.  But I guess you’ve got to pinch those waiters some to make ’em skip. [To the English, who have carelessly looked his way for a moment] You’ll appreciate that, the way he acted about my eggs.

     [The English make faint motions with their chins and avert their
     eyes.]

     [To the waiter, who is standing at the door of the buffet]

Waiter!  Flash of beer—­jump, now!

Waiter.  ‘Komm’ gleich’!

German.  ‘Cigarren’!

Waiter.  ‘Schon’!

     [He disappears.]

American. [Affably—­to the little man] Now, if I don’t get that flash of beer quicker’n you got yours, I shall admire.

German. [Abruptly] Tolstoi is nothing ‘nichts’!  No good!  Ha?

American. [Relishing the approach of argument] Well, that is a matter of temperament.  Now, I’m all for equality.  See that poor woman there—­very humble woman—­there she sits among us with her baby.  Perhaps you’d like to locate her somewhere else?

German. [Shrugging].  Tolstoi is ‘sentimentalisch’.  Nietzsche is the true philosopher, the only one.