trance to seize the bags of an incoming guest, whose white whiskers and youthful, bright tweed suit were visible to Clyde's uninitiated eyes a hundred feet away. A mysterious and yet sacred vision—a tip!
“Front!” It was Mr. Barnes calling again. “See what 913 wants—ice-water, I guess.” And a fourth boy was gone.
Clyde, steadily moving up along the bench and adjoining Hegglund, who had been detailed to instruct him a little, was all eyes and ears and nerves. He was so tense that he could hardly breathe, and fidgeted and jerked until finally Hegglund exclaimed: “Now, don't git excited. Just hold your horses, will yuh? You'll be all right. You're jist like I was when I begun—all noives. But dat ain't de way. Easy's what you gotta be aroun' here. An' you wants to look as dough you wasn't seein' nobody nowhere—just lookin' to what ya got before ya.”
“Front!” Mr. Barnes again. Clyde was scarcely able to keep his mind on what Hegglund was saying. “115 wants some writing paper and pens.” A fifth boy had gone.
“Where do you get paper and pens if they want em?” He pleaded of his instructor, as one who was about to die might plead.
“Off'n de key desk, I toldja. He's to de left over dere. He'll give 'em to ya. An' you gits ice-water in de hall we lined up in just a minute ago—at dat end over dere, see—you'll see a little door. You gotta give dat guy in dere a dime oncet in a while or he'll get sore.”
“Cling!” The room clerk's bell. A sixth boy had gone without a word to supply some order in that direction.
“And now remember,” continued Hegglund, seeing that he himself was next, and cautioning him for the last time, “if dey wants drinks of any kind, you get 'em in de grill over dere off'n de dining-room. An' be sure and git de names of de drinks straight or dey'll git sore. An' if it's a room you're showing, pull de shades down to-night and turn on de lights. An' if it's anyt'ing from de dinin'-room you gotta see de head-waiter—he gets de tip, see.”
“Front!” He was up and gone.
And Clyde was number one. And number four was already seating himself again by his side—but looking shrewdly around to see if anybody was wanted anywhere.
“Front!” It was Mr. Barnes. Clyde was up and before him, grateful that it was no one coming in with bags, but worried for fear it might be something he would not understand or could not do quickly.
