WAITER (to Crampton). Thick or clear, sir?
CRAMPTON (to Mrs. Clandon). Does nobody ask a blessing in this household?
PHILIP (interposing smartly). Let us first settle what we are about to receive. William!
WAITER. Yes, sir. (He glides swiftly round the table to Phil’s left elbow. On his way he whispers to the young waiter) Thick.
PHILIP. Two small Lagers for the children as usual, William; and one large for this gentleman (indicating Valentine). Large Apollinaris for Mr. McComas.
WAITER. Yes, sir.
DOLLY. Have a six of Irish in it, Finch?
McCOMAS (scandalized). No — no, thank you.
PHILIP. Number 413 for my mother and Miss Gloria as before; and — (turning enquiringly to Crampton) Eh?
CRAMPTON (scowling and about to reply offensively). I —
WAITER (striking in mellifluously). All right, sir. We know what Mr. Crampton likes here, sir. (He goes into the hotel.)
PHILIP (looking gravely at his father). You frequent bars. Bad habit! (The cook, accompanied by a waiter with a supply of hot plates, brings in the fish from the kitchen to the service table, and begins slicing it.)
CRAMPTON. You have learnt your lesson from your mother, I see.
MRS. CLANDON. Phil: will you please remember that your jokes are apt to irritate people who are not accustomed to us, and that your father is our guest to-day.
CRAMPTON (bitterly). Yes, a guest at the head of my own table. (The soup plates are removed.)
DOLLY (sympathetically). Yes: it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? It’s just as bad for us, you know.
PHILIP. Sh! Dolly: we are both wanting in tact. (To Crampton.) We mean well, Mr. Crampton; but we are not yet strong in the filial line. (The waiter returns from the hotel with the drinks.) William: come and restore good feeling.
WAITER (cheerfully). Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. Small Lager for you, sir. (To Crampton.) Seltzer and Irish, sir. (To McComas.) Apollinaris, sir. (To Dolly.) Small Lager, miss. (To Mrs. Clandon, pouring out wine.) 413, madam. (To Valentine.) Large Lager for you, sir. (To Gloria.) 413, miss.
DOLLY (drinking). To the family!
PHILIP. (drinking). Hearth and Home! (Fish is served.)
McCOMAS (with an obviously forced attempt at cheerful domesticity). We are getting on very nicely after all.
DOLLY (critically). After all! After all what, Finch?
CRAMPTON (sarcastically). He means that you are getting on very nicely in spite of the presence of your father. Do I take your point rightly, Mr. McComas?
McCOMAS (disconcerted). No, no. I only said “after all” to round off the sentence. I — er — er — er —
WAITER (tactfully). Turbot, sir?
McCOMAS (intensely grateful for the interruption). Thank you, waiter: thank you.
WAITER (sotto voce). Don’t mention it, sir. (He returns to the service table.)
CRAMPTON (to Phil). Have you thought of choosing a profession yet?
PHILIP. I am keeping my mind open on that subject. William!
WAITER. Yes, sir.
PHILIP. How long do you think it would take me to learn to be a really smart waiter?
WAITER. Can’t be learnt, sir. It’s in the character, sir. (Confidentially to Valentine, who is looking about for something.) Bread for the lady, sir? yes, sir. (He serves bread to Gloria, and resumes at his former pitch.) Very few are born to it, sir.
PHILIP. You don’t happen to have such a thing as a son, yourself, have you?
WAITER. Yes, sir: oh, yes, sir. (To Gloria, again dropping his voice.) A little more fish, miss? you won’t care for the joint in the middle of the day.
GLORIA. No, thank you. (The fish plates are removed.)
DOLLY. Is your son a waiter, too, William?
WAITER (serving Gloria with fowl). Oh, no, miss, he’s too impetuous. He’s at the Bar.
McCOMAS (patronizingly). A potman, eh?
WAITER (with a touch of melancholy, as if recalling a disappointment softened by time). No, sir: the other bar — your profession, sir. A Q.C., sir.
McCOMAS (embarrassed). I’m sure I beg your pardon.
WAITER. Not at all, sir. Very natural mistake, I’m sure, sir. I’ve often wished he was a potman, sir. Would have been off my hands ever so much sooner, sir. (Aside to Valentine, who is again in difficulties.) Salt at your elbow, sir. (Resuming.) Yes, sir: had to support him until he was thirty-seven, sir. But doing well now, sir: very satisfactory indeed, sir. Nothing less than fifty guineas, sir.
McCOMAS. Democracy, Crampton! — modern democracy!
WAITER (calmly). No, sir, not democracy: only education, sir. Scholarships, sir. Cambridge Local, sir. Sidney Sussex College, sir. (Dolly plucks his sleeve and whispers as he bends down.) Stone ginger, miss? Right, miss. (To McComas.) Very good thing for him, sir: he never had any turn for real work, sir. (He goes into the hotel, leaving the company somewhat overwhelmed by his son’s eminence.)
VALENTINE. Which of us dare give that man an order again!
DOLLY. I hope he won’t mind my sending him for ginger-beer.
CRAMPTON (doggedly). While he’s a waiter it’s his business to wait. If you had treated him as a waiter ought to be treated, he’d have held his tongue.
DOLLY. What a loss that would have been! Perhaps he’ll give us an introduction to his son and get us into London society. (The waiter reappears with the ginger-beer.)
CRAMPTON (growling contemptuously). London society! London society!! You’re not fit for any society, child.
DOLLY (losing her temper). Now look here, Mr. Crampton. If you think —
WAITER (softly, at her elbow). Stone ginger, miss.
DOLLY (taken aback, recovers her good humor after a long breath and says sweetly). Thank you, dear William. You were just in time. (She drinks.)
McCOMAS (making a fresh effort to lead the conversation into dispassionate regions). If I may be allowed to change the subject, Miss Clandon, what is the established religion in Madeira?
GLORIA. I suppose the Portuguese religion. I never inquired.
DOLLY. The servants come in Lent and kneel down before you and confess all the things they’ve done: and you have to pretend to forgive them. Do they do that in England, William?
WAITER. Not usually, miss. They may in some parts: but it has not come under my notice, miss. (Catching Mrs. Clandon’s eye as the young waiter offers her the salad bowl.) You like it without dressing, ma’am: yes, ma’am, I have some for you. (To his young colleague, motioning him to serve Gloria.) This side, Jo. (He takes a special portion of salad from the service table and puts it beside Mrs. Clandon’s plate. In doing so he observes that Dolly is making a wry face.) Only a bit of watercress, miss, got in by mistake. (He takes her salad away.) Thank you, miss. (To the young waiter, admonishing him to serve Dolly afresh.) Jo. (Resuming.) Mostly members of the Church of England, miss.
DOLLY. Members of the Church of England! What’s the subscription?
CRAMPTON (rising