"Nice tongue samwich, suh? Nice lettuce samwich, lady?" he could be
heard vociferating--perhaps a little too much as if he had sandwiches
for sale. "Lemme jes' lay this nice green lettuce samwich on you' plate
fer you."

His wide-spread hand bore the tray of sandwiches high overhead, for his
style in waiting was florid, though polished. He walked with a faint,
shuffling suggestion of a prance, a lissome pomposity adopted in
obedience to the art-sense within him which bade him harmonize himself
with occasions of state and fashion. His manner was the super-supreme
expression of graciousness, but the graciousness was innocent, being but
an affectation and nothing inward--for inwardly Genesis was humble. He
was only pretending to be the kind of waiter he would like to be.

And because he was a new waiter he strongly wished to show familiarity
with his duties--familiarity, in fact, with everything and everybody.
This yearning, born of self-doubt, and intensified by a slight touch of
gin, was beyond question the inspiration of his painful behavior when
he came near the circle of chairs where sat Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, Miss
Parcher, Miss Pratt, Miss Boke, Mr. Watson, Mr. Bullitt, others--and
William.

"Nice tongue samwich, lady!" he announced, semi-cake-walking beneath his
high-borne tray.

"Nice green lettuce sam--" He came suddenly to a dramatic dead-stop as he
beheld William sitting before him, wearing that strange new dignity and
Mr. Baxter's evening clothes. "Name o' goo'ness!" Genesis exclaimed, so
loudly that every one looked up. "How in the livin' worl' you evuh come
to git here? You' daddy sut'ny mus' 'a' weakened 'way down 'fo' he let
you wear his low-cut ves' an' pants an' long-tail coat! I bet any man
fifty cents you gone an' stole 'em out aftuh he done went to bed!"

And he burst into a wild, free African laugh.

At seventeen such things are not embarrassing; they are catastrophical.
But, mercifully, catastrophes often produce a numbness in the victims.
More as in a trance than actually William heard the outbreak of his
young companions; and, during the quarter of an hour subsequent to
Genesis's performance, the oft-renewed explosions of their mirth made
but a kind of horrid buzzing in his ears. Like sounds borne from far
away were the gaspings of Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, striving with all their
strength to obtain mastery of themselves once more.

... A flourish of music challenged the dancers. Couples appeared