"Ha, ha, a blight! That's good."
"It's guid business if ye'll make it so. Take it from me, man, you could fill the two transients' tables every day of the week, if you'd have her wait on them."
Bastien frowned. "That's Annie's job. She'd kick like the devil. There'd be trouble."
"Weel," sneered Kirke, "if ye prefair Annie's prestige"—he bit off the French word with relish—"to the prestige of The Duke of York—" he swung up the two bottom steps of the stairs.
Bastien's frown deepened.
"Wait a minute, can't you? You know I don't care a darn about Annie's what-d'you-call-it, but I don't want rows. She's got a lot more experience than Delight—"
"Experience," sneered Kirke, leaning over the banister. "Experience with men counts more than being able to keep three orders in your head at once. D'ye think they'd mind if she muddled their orders a bit? I was over in the bar at The British American tonight and I haird Beemer say he'd like to steal her if he could."
"The dirty dog."
"No. He just has the guid sense to see that there's money in her for the business."
"The dining-room is a loss."
"It needn't be if you'll just put your young beauty in the foreground. Ah, man, don't tell me that you can't make that richt with Annie! She's daft about you." He grinned down at Bastien.
"What about old Jessop?"
"She'd be glad to see Annie come down a peg. They're all jealous for ye. It's an awful thing, Bastien, to be such a chairmer. Old and young—"
"I'll think about it," said the manager.
