And Mr. Sparkes was a waiter, had been a waiter for some thirty
years, and would probably pursue the calling as long as he was fit
for it. In this fact he saw nothing to be ashamed of. It had never
occurred to him that anyone could or should be ashamed of the
position; nevertheless, Mr. Sparkes was a disappointed, even an
embittered, man; and that for a subtle reason, which did credit to
his sensibility.

All his life he had been employed at Chaffey's. As a boy of ten he
joined Chaffey's in the capacity of plate washer; zeal and conduct
promoted him, and seniority made him at length head waiter. In those
days Chaffey's was an eating-house of the old kind, one long room
with "boxes"; beef its staple dish, its drink a sound porter at
twopence a pint. How many thousand times had Mr. Sparkes shouted the
order "One ally-mode!" The chief, almost the only, variant was "One
'ot!" which signified a cut from the boiled round, served of course
with carrots and potatoes, remarkable for their excellence. Midday
dinner was the only meal recognized at Chaffey's; from twelve to
half-past two the press of business kept everyone breathless and
perspiring. Before and after these hours little if anything was
looked for, and at four o'clock the establishment closed its doors.

But it came to pass that the proprietor of Chaffey's died, and the
business fell into the hands of a young man with new ideas. Within a
few months Chaffey's underwent a transformation; it was pulled down,
rebuilt, enlarged, beautified; nothing left of its old self but the
name. In place of the homely eating-house there stood a large hall,
painted and gilded and set about with mirrors, furnished with marble
tables and cane-bottomed chairs--to all appearances a restaurant on