‘Oh, stop it, Uncle Bill,’ she says. ‘Say “Hallo!” to a pal, and smile prettily, or I’ll tell them about the time you went to the White City.’
Well, there’s some bygones that are best left bygones, and the night at the White City what she was alluding to was one of them. I still maintain, as I always shall maintain, that the constable had no right to—but, there, it’s a story that wouldn’t interest you. And, anyway, I was glad to see Katie again, so I give her a smile.
‘Not so much of it,’ I says. ‘Not so much of it. I’m glad to see you, Katie.’
‘Three cheers! Jimmy, I want to introduce you to my friend, Uncle Bill. Ted, this is Uncle Bill. Violet, this is Uncle Bill.’
If wasn’t my place to fetch her one on the side of the head, but I’d of liked to have; for she was acting like she’d never used to act when I knew her—all tough and bold. Then it come to me that she was nervous. And natural, too, seeing young Andy might pop out any moment.
And sure enough out he popped from the back room at that very instant. Katie looked at him, and he looked at Katie, and I seen his face get kind of hard; but he didn’t say a word. And presently he went out again.
I heard Katie breathe sort of deep.
‘He’s looking well, Uncle Bill, ain’t he?’ she says to me, very soft.
‘Pretty fair,’ I says. ‘Well, kid, I been reading the pieces in the papers. You’ve knocked ‘em.’
‘Ah, don’t Bill,’ she says, as if I’d hurt her. And me meaning only to say the civil thing. Girls are rum.
When the party had paid their bill and give me a tip which made me think I was back at the Guelph again—only there weren’t any Dick Turpin of a head waiter standing by for his share—they hopped it. But Katie hung back and had a word with me.
‘He
‘Rather!’
‘Does—does he ever speak of me?’
‘I ain’t heard him.’
‘I suppose he’s still pretty angry with me, isn’t he, Uncle Bill? You’re sure you’ve never heard him speak of me?’
So, to cheer her up, I tells her about the piece in the paper I showed him; but it didn’t seem to cheer her up any. And she goes out.
The very next night in she come again for supper, but with different nuts and different girls. There was six of them this time, counting her. And they’d hardly sat down at their table, when in come the fellers she had called Jimmy and Ted with two girls. And they sat eating of their suppers and chaffing one another across the floor, all as pleasant and sociable as you please.
‘I say, Katie,’ I heard one of the nuts say, ‘you were right. He’s worth the price of admission.’
I don’t know who they meant, but they all laughed. And every now and again I’d hear them praising the food, which I don’t wonder at, for Jules had certainly done himself proud. All artistic temperament, these Frenchmen are. The moment I told him we had company, so to speak, he blossomed like a flower does when you put it in water.
‘Ah, see, at last!’ he says, trying to grab me and kiss me. ‘Our fame has gone abroad in the world which amuses himself, ain’t it? For a good supper connexion I have always prayed, and he has arrived.’
Well, it did begin to look as if he was right. Ten high-class supper-folk in an evening was pretty hot stuff for MacFarland’s. I’m bound to say I got excited myself. I can’t deny that I missed the Guelph at times.
On the fifth night, when the place was fairly packed and looked for all the world like Oddy’s or Romano’s, and me and the two young fellers helping me was working double tides, I suddenly understood, and I went up to Katie and, bending over her very respectful with a bottle, I whispers, ‘Hot stuff, kid. This is a jolly fine boom you’re working for the old place.’ And by the way she smiled back at me, I seen I had guessed right.
Andy was hanging round, keeping an eye on things, as he always done, and I says to him, when I was passing, ‘She’s doing us proud, bucking up the old place, ain’t she?’ And he says, ‘Get on with your work.’ And I got on.
Katie hung back at the door, when she was on her way out, and had a word with me.
‘Has he said anything about me, Uncle Bill?’
‘Not a word,’ I says.
And she goes out.
You’ve probably noticed about London, mister, that a flock of sheep isn’t in it with the nuts, the way they all troop on each other’s heels to supper-places. One month they’re all going to one place, next month to another. Someone in the push starts the cry that he’s found a new place, and off they all go to try it. The trouble with most of the places is that once they’ve got the custom they think it’s going to keep on coming and all they’ve got to do is to lean back and watch it come. Popularity comes in at the door, and good food and good service flies out at the window. We wasn’t going to have any of that at MacFarland’s. Even if it hadn’t been that Andy would have come down like half a ton of bricks on the first sign of slackness, Jules and me both of us had our professional reputations to keep up. I didn’t give myself no airs when I seen things coming our way. I worked all the harder, and I seen to it that the four young fellers under me—there was four now—didn’t lose no time fetching of the orders.
The consequence was that the difference between us and most popular restaurants was that we kept our popularity. We fed them well, and we served them well; and once the thing had started rolling it didn’t stop. Soho isn’t so very far away from the centre of things, when you come to look at it, and they didn’t mind the extra step, seeing that there was something good at the end of it. So we got our popularity, and we kept our popularity; and we’ve got it to this day. That’s how MacFarland’s came to be what it is, mister.
With the air of one who has told a well-rounded tale, Henry ceased, and observed that it was wonderful the way Mr Woodward, of Chelsea, preserved his skill in spite of his advanced years.
