Usually Jules did not personally wait at dinner.

He merely hovered observant, like a captain on the bridge during the mate's watch.
Regular frequenters of the hotel felt themselves honoured when Jules attached himself to their tables.
Theodore Racksole hesitated one second, and then issued the order with a fine air of carelessness: 'Filleted steak for two, and a bottle of Bass.' It was the bravest act of Theodore Racksole's life, and yet at more than one previous crisis a high courage had not been lacking to him.
'It's not in the menu, sir,' said Jules the imperturbable.
'Never mind.

Get it.

We want it.' 'Very good, sir.' Jules walked to the service-door, and, merely affecting to look behind, came immediately back again.
'Mr Rocco's compliments, sir, and he regrets to be unable to serve steak and Bass to-night, sir.' 'Mr Rocco ?' questioned Racksole lightly.
'Mr Rocco,' repeated Jules with firmness.
'And who is Mr Rocco ?' 'Mr Rocco is our chef, sir.' Jules had the expression of a man who is asked to explain who Shakespeare was.
The two men looked at each other.

It seemed incredible that Theodore Racksole, the ineffable Racksole, who owned a thousand miles of railway, several towns, and sixty votes in Congress, should be defied by a waiter, or even by a whole hotel.