“It will now be necessary that you shall remain until this sum is restored to me,” he said. “I am generous not to have increased the liability, for times were many when it seemed that I had incurred upon myself the cost of a burial.” Wynne reckoned that the least time in which he could reasonably hope to clear the score would be from three to four months, and raised his voice in protest. “But my career, monsieur—what will become of my career?” Money is one of the few things a Frenchman takes seriously; in nearly all other matters he is possessed of an enchanting elasticity. Wynne’s lamentations were heard without sympathy. “The debt must be discharged,” said M. le Patron. So once more Wynne donned his evening clothes with the break of day, once more a serviette swung from the bend of his arm. Strange to say menial service did not break his spirit or lessen his conceit. There are certain compensations in the life of a waiter if he be an observant fellow. Many and various are the types in which he comes into contact, and there is no surer way of fathoming the character of man than is afforded by watching him at his meat. To a certain extent Wynne took a pride in his waiting, and made an especial study of the craft. It amused him to “bank” his corners perilously with a pile of plates on his hand; it amused him to whip off the cover of an omelette and introduce it most exquisitely to its future consumer; it amused him to theorise on a customer’s likely choice of wine, and to suggest the vintage as he handed the card. But most of all it amused him to reflect that he, Wynne Rendall, was a waiter. Not for an instant did it occur to him that, up to this point, his achievements had not merited his occupation of a more illustrious position. In the back of his head was a comfortable assurance that he was a very important and valuable person, and this being so, that it was exceedingly droll for him to minister to the wants of the vulgar-minded. He acquired the habit of jotting down his daily thoughts on odd scraps of paper as he lay in bed at night, and some of these would have made good reading had they been preserved. Also they would have served to show very clearly the streak of egoism which outcropped his entire personality. Occasionally he flew to verse of a style and metre very much his own. Here is an example: “Garçon!” In black and white I serve their bellies’ need, Paid with a frown, a curse, a penny in the franc. Will they thank Me with a smile, when, playing on my reed, I bid them hear, and from my cathedra Their silly loves and lusts, dull thoughts and empty creed, In black and white I show them as they are? The verse in itself has few merits, but it afforded him a sense of luxury to produce such lines. He felt as a king might feel who lay hidden in a hovel, conscious of greatness in little places.