CHAPTER  XV

'  Yes,  sir,  yes  sir ;  I've  got  your  order,'  cried  Victoria
to  a  middle  aged  man,  whose  face  reddened  with
every  minute  of  waiting.  *  Steak,  sir?  Yes,  sir,
that'll  be  eight  minutes.  And  sautees,  yes  sir.
Gladys,  send  Dicky  up  to  four.  What  was  yours,
sir  ?  Wing  twopence  extra.  No  bread  ?  Oh,  sorry,
sir,  thought  you  said  Worcester.'

Victoria  dashed  away  to  the  counter.  This  was
the  busy  hour.  In  her  brain  a  hurtle  of  food  stuffs
and  condiments  automaticall}'^  sorted  itself  out.
*Now  then,  hurry  up  with  that  chop,'  she  snapped,
thrusting  her  head  almost  through  the  kitchen  window.
*  'Oo  are  you,'  growled  the  cook  over  her  shoulder.
'  Empress  of  Germany?  I  don't  think.'

*  Oh,  shut  it,  Maria,  hand  it  over ;  now  then  Cora,
where  you  pushing  to  ? '  Victoria  edged  Cora  back
from  the  window,  seized  the  chop  and  rushed  back  to
her  tables.
The  bustle  increased  ;  it  was  close  on  one  o'clock,
an  hour  when  the  slaves  drop  their  oars,  and  for  a
while  leave  the  thwarts  of  many  groans.  The
Rosebud  had  nearly  filled  up.  Almost  every  table
was  occupied  by  young  men,  most  of  them  reading
a  paper  propped  up  against  a  cruet,  some  a  Temple
Classic,  its  pages  kept  open  by  the  weight  of  the  plate
edge.  A  steady  hum  of  talk  came  from  those  who  did
not  read,  and,  mingled  with  the  clatter  of  knives  and
forks,  produced  that  atmosphere  of  mongrel  sound
that  floats  into  the  ears  like  a  restless  wave.
xi6


A  BED  OF  ROSES  n7

Victorfa  stepped  briskly  between  the  tables,  collect-
ing orders,  deftly  making  out  bill  after  bill,  smootbing
tempers  ruflBed  here  and  there  by  a  wrongful  attribu-
tion of  food.
