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Updated: June 8, 2025
We were very loyal to each other in the Club, and I replied with youthful enthusiasm that he was considered one of the most promising at the bar. And, remembering Tournelli, I added confidently that whoever engaged him to look after their property interests had secured a treasure. "But is he good in criminal cases before a police court, for instance?" continued Tom.
About three weeks ago I had a notice to transfer twenty feet of Gold Hill to a fellow named 'Tournelli. Well, Tournelli happened to call for it himself, and who the devil do you suppose Tournelli was? Why our Italian waiter. I was regularly startled, and so was he. But business is business; so I passed him over the stock and said nothing nor did he neither there nor here.
To his surprise the Italian answered, with every appearance of truthfulness, that he had not seen Mr. Manners at all! Manners replied briefly that he had had no interview whatever with Tournelli, and changed the subject quickly. The mystery as we persisted in believing it was heightened when another member deposed that he had seen "Tom," the Western waiter, coming from Manners's office.
But the Quartermaster's hand had closed on his wrist. "That's my knife, Tournelli." The knife dropped from the Italian's fingers. "Better see WHAT he wants. It may not be THAT," said the young officer, coolly but kindly. Tournelli turned impatiently towards the stranger. We alone had witnessed this incident, and were watching him breathlessly.
Was it the sensitiveness of a refined nature, or he was young and good-looking was he disconcerted by the fact that our handsome neighbor had witnessed his awkwardness? But she was not laughing, and, as far as I could see, was intently regarding the bill of fare. "Waiter!" called her companion, hailing Tournelli. "Here!"
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