“William， you forget yourself！” I said， meaning—as I seenow—that he had forgotten me.
I heard him gulp， but not to my reprimand. He was scanningthe street. His hands chattered on my shoulders， and， pushinghim 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 heardthe echo of my question， seemed to be brought back to theclub. He turned his face from me for an instant， and answered，shakily：
“I beg your pardon， sir！ I—I shouldn’t have done it. Are thebananas too ripe， sir？”
He recommended the nuts， and awaited my verdict soanxiously 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 dislikebeing waited on by a melancholy waiter.”
“Yes， sir，” he replied， trying to smile， and then broke outpassionately， “For God’s sake， sir， tell me， have you seen alittle girl looking in at the club windows？”
He had been a good waiter once， and his distracted visagewas spoiling my dinner.
“There，” I said， pointing to the girl， and no doubt wouldhave added that he must bring me coffee immediately， had hecontinued to listen. But already he was beckoning to the child.
I had not the least interest in her （indeed it had never struckme that waiters had private affairs， and I still think it a pitythat they should have）； but as I happened to be looking out atthe window I could not avoid seeing what occurred. As soonas the girl saw William she ran into the middle of the street，regardless of vehicles， and nodded three times to him. Thenshe disappeared.
I have said that she was quite a common child， withoutattraction of any sort， and yet it was amazing the difference shemade in William. He gasped relief， like one who has brokenthrough the anxiety that checks breathing， and into his facethere came a silly laugh of happiness. I had dined well， on thewhole， so I said：
“I am glad to see you cheerful again， William.”
I meant that I approved his cheerfulness， because it helpedmy digestion， but he must needs think I was sympathizing withhim.
“Thank you， sir，” he answered. “Oh， sir！ when she noddedand I saw it was all right， I could have gone down on my kneesto God.”
I was as much horrified as if he had dropped a plate on mytoes. Even William， disgracefully emotional as he was at themoment， flung out his arms to recall the shameful words.
“Coffee， William！” I said， sharply.
I sipped my coffee indignantly， for it was plain to me thatWilliam had something on his mind.
“You are not vexed with me， sir？” he had the hardihood towhisper.
“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 favoredin so many ways， was a married man！ I might have guessedas much years before had I ever reflected about waiters，for I knew vaguely that his class did this sort of thing. Hisconfession 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 withdrawhis wife like some unsuccessful dish， as if its taste would notremain in the mouth. I shall be chided for questioning him furtherabout his wife， but， though doubtless an unusual step， it wasonly bad form superficially， for my motive was irreproachable.
I inquired for his wife， not because I was interested in herwelfare， but in the hope of allaying my irritation. So I amentitled to invite the wayfarer who has bespattered me withmud to scrape it off.
I desired to be told by William that the girl’s signals meanthis wife’s recovery to health. He should have seen that suchwas my wish and answered accordingly. But， with the brutalinconsiderateness of his class， he said：
“She has had a good day， but the doctor， he—the doctor isafeard she is dying.”
Already I repented my question. William and his wifeseemed in league against me， when they might so easily havechosen some other member.
“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 herwhen—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 tellhim：
“I was once married， William. My wife—it was just such acase as yours.”
“She did not get better， sir？”
“No.”
After a pause， he said， “Thank you， sir，” meaning for thesympathy that made me tell him that. But it must have beenthe wine.
“That little girl comes here with a message from your wife？”
“Yes； if she nods three times， it means my wife is a littlebetter.”
“She nodded thrice to-day.”
“But she is told to do that to relieve me， and maybe those nodsdon’t tell the truth.”
“Is she your girl？”
“No， we have none but the baby. She is a neighbor’s. Shecomes 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 andtwo 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’tlow. You see， we were never used to anything better， and Imind， when I let her see the house before we were married，she—she a sort of cried， because she was so proud of it. Thatwas eight years ago， and now，—she’s afeard she’ll die when I’maway 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？”