How Barnabas Bought an Unridable Horse--And Rode It

"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.

"Now, I wonder how long Peterby will be?" he said to himself. But
here came the creak of the waiter's boots, and that observant person
reappeared, bearing the various articles which he named in turn as
he set them on the table.

"A bottle of ink, sir; pens and writing-paper, sir; and the Gazette."

"Thank you," said Barnabas, very conscious of his neckcloth still.

"And now, sir," here the waiter coughed into his napkin again,
"now--what will you drink, sir; shall we say port, or shall we make
it sherry?"

"Neither," said Barnabas.

"Why, then, we 'ave some rare old burgundy, sir--'ighly esteemed by
connysoors and (cough again) other--gentlemen."

"No, thank you."

"On the other 'and--to suit 'umbler tastes, we 'ave,"--here the
waiter closed his eyes, sighed, and shook his head--"ale, sir,
likewise beer, small and otherwise."