Didn't
recognise him immediately on his entrance for two reasons. One was
his hat, and the other was his girl. I took it from him and hung it
up. I mean, of course, the hat. It was a brand-new bowler, a
trifle ikey about the brim. Have always associated him with a soft
grey felt. But never with girls. Females, yes, to any extent. But
this was the real article. You know what I mean--the sort of girl
that you turn round to look after. It was she who selected the
table in the corner behind the door. Been there before, I should
say.
I should, in the ordinary course of business, have addressed Mr.
Parable by name, such being our instructions in the case of
customers known to us. But, putting the hat and the girl together,
I decided not to. Mr. Parable was all for our three-and-six-penny
table d'hote; he evidently not wanting to think. But the lady
wouldn't hear of it.
"Remember Miss Clebb," she reminded him.
Of course, at the time I did not know what was meant. She ordered
thin soup, a grilled sole, and cutlets au gratin. It certainly
couldn't have been the dinner. With regard to the champagne, he
would have his own way. I picked him out a dry '94, that you might
have weaned a baby on. I suppose it was the whole thing combined.
It was after the sole that I heard Mr.
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