The Grand Babylon Hotel | Page 3

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Prepared by David Reed [email protected] or [email protected]

The Grand Babylon Hotel
by Arnold Bennett

T. Racksole & Daughter

Chapter One
THE MILLIONAIRE AND THE WAITER
'YES, sir?'
Jules, the celebrated head waiter of the Grand Babylon, was bending formally towards
the alert, middle-aged man who had just entered the smoking-room and dropped into a
basket-chair in the corner by the conservatory. It was 7.45 on a particularly sultry June
night, and dinner was about to be served at the Grand Babylon. Men of all sizes, ages,
and nationalities, but every one alike arrayed in faultless evening dress, were dotted about
the large, dim apartment. A faint odour of flowers came from the conservatory, and the
tinkle of a fountain. The waiters, commanded by Jules, moved softly across the thick
Oriental rugs, balancing their trays with the dexterity of jugglers, and receiving and
executing orders with that air of profound importance of which only really first-class
waiters have the secret. The atmosphere was an atmosphere of serenity and repose,
characteristic of the Grand Babylon. It seemed impossible that anything could occur to
mar the peaceful, aristocratic monotony of existence in that perfectly-managed
establishment. Yet on that night was to happen the mightiest upheaval that the Grand
Babylon had ever known.
'Yes, sir?' repeated Jules, and this time there was a shade of august disapproval in his
voice: it was not usual for him to have to address a customer twice.

'Oh!' said the alert, middle-aged man, looking up at length. Beautifully ignorant of the
identity of the great Jules, he allowed his grey eyes to twinkle as he caught sight of the
expression on the waiter's face. 'Bring me an Angel Kiss.'
'Pardon, sir?'
'Bring me an Angel Kiss, and be good enough to lose no time.'
'If it's an American drink, I fear we don't keep it, sir.' The voice of Jules fell icily distinct,
and several men glanced round uneasily, as if to deprecate the slightest disturbance of
their calm. The appearance of the person to whom Jules was speaking, however,
reassured them somewhat, for he had all the look of that expert, the travelled Englishman,
who can differentiate between one hotel and another by instinct, and who knows at once
where he may make a fuss with propriety, and where it is advisable to behave exactly as
at the club. The Grand Babylon was a hotel in whose smoking-room one behaved as
though one was at one's club.
'I