The waiter who came to serve us looked at us with a supercilious smile, thrust his hands in his pockets, and exchanged some remarks with the humpbacked dishwasher. He evidently tried to give us to understand that he felt himself immeasurably higher than the minstrel, both in dignity and social position, so that he considered it not only an indignity, but even an actual joke, that he was called upon to serve us.
“Do you wish vin ordinaire ?” he asked with a knowing look, winking toward my companion, and switching his napkin from one hand to the other.
“Champagne, and your very best,” said I, endeavoring to assume my haughtiest and most imposing appearance.
But neither my champagne, nor my endeavor to look haughty and imposing, had the least effect on the servant: he smiled incredulously, loitered a moment or two gazing at us, took time enough to glance at his gold watch, and with leisurely steps, as though going out for a walk, left the room.
Soon he returned with the wine,