"Ah!" sighed the waiter, still caressing his shirt-frill, "you're
Number Four, I think--night coach?"
"Yes."
"From the country of course, sir?"
"Yes--from the country," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little,
"but how in the world did you guess that?"
"From your 'toot example,' sir, as they say in France--from your
appearance, sir."
"You are evidently a very observant man!" said Barnabas.
"Well," answered the waiter, with his gaze still riveted upon the
neckcloth--indeed it seemed to fascinate him, "well, I can see as
far through a brick wall as most,--there ain't much as I miss, sir."
"Why, then," said Barnabas, "you may perhaps have noticed a door
behind you?"
The waiter stared from the neckcloth to the door and back again, and
scratched his chin dubiously.
"Door, sir--yessir!"
"Then suppose you go out of that door, and bring me pens, and ink,
and paper."
"Yessir!"
"Also the latest newspapers."
"Yessir--certainly, sir;" and with another slight, though eloquent
cough into his napkin, he started off upon his errand. Hereupon, as
soon as he was alone, Barnabas must needs glance down at that
offending neckcloth, and his frown grew the blacker.
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