"
A tall, well-set waitress, with several rings on her fingers, took the
order as gravely as if she were performing some religious function;
then she turned to the Cockney.
"Cup of cawfee, birdie!" he cried, leaning over the table and trying
to grip her hand. "Not like the last, mind; it was good water spoilt.
I'll never come in 'ere again."
"So you say!" said the girl, moving out of his way and laughing
loudly.
"Strike me balmy if I do!"
"Where'll yer go then?"
"Round the corner, of course," was the answer. "There's another bird
there--and cawfee! It's some stuff too, not like 'ere."
"All right; don't come in again if yer don't want ter."
The Cockney got his second cup of coffee and pronounced it inferior to
the first; then looked at an evening paper which Oxford handed to him,
and studied a photograph of a battleship on the front page.
"Can't stand these 'ere papers," he said, after a moment, as he got
to his feet and lit a cigarette. "Nuffink but war in them always; I'm
sick readin' about war! I saw your bit in one a couple of nights ago,"
he said, turning to me.
"What did you think of it?" I asked, anxious to hear his opinion on an
article dealing with the life of his own regiment.
"Nuffink much," he answered, honestly and frankly. "Everything you say
is about things we all know; who wants to 'ear about them? D'ye get
paid for writin' that?"
One of his mates, a youth named Bill, who came in at that moment,
overheard the remark.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45