Part 46 (2/2)
”Yep,” Trinkmann replied.
”I would like to speak a few words something to a waiter which is working for you, by the name Louis Berkfield,” the voice continued.
Instantly Trinkmann's mind reverted to Maikafer's parting words.
”Who is it wants to talk with him?” he asked.
”It don't make no difference,” said the voice, ”because he wouldn't recognize my name at all.”
”No?” Trinkmann retorted. ”Well, maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't, Mr. Ringentaub; but people which they got the gall to ring up my waiters and steal 'em away from me in business hours yet, Mr.
Ringentaub, all I could say is that it ain't surprising they busted up in Brownsville. Furthermore, Mr. Ringentaub, if you think you could hire one of them stores acrosst the street and open up a _gemutlicher_ place with Louis for a waiter, y'understand, go ahead and try, but you couldn't do it over _my_ 'phone.”
He hung up the receiver so forcibly that the impact threw down eight boxes of the finest cigars.
”Louis,” he shouted, and in response Louis approached from the back of the restaurant.
”I am here, Mr. Trinkmann,” Louis said, with a slight tremor in his tones.
”Say, lookyhere, Louis,” Trinkmann continued, ”to-morrow morning first thing you should ring up Greenberg & Company and tell 'em to call and fetch away them eight boxes cigars. What, do them people think I would be a sucker all my life? They stock me up _mit_ cigars till I couldn't move around at all.”
”But, Mr. Trinkmann,” Louis protested, ”this afternoon three o'clock you are telling me----”
”_Koos.h.!.+_” Trinkmann roared, and Louis fell back three paces; ”don't you answer me back. Ain't you got no respect at all?”
Louis made no reply, but slunk away to the rear of the restaurant.
”_Schlemiel!_” Simon hissed, as Louis pa.s.sed him. ”Why don't you stand up to him?”
Louis shrugged hopelessly and continued on to the kitchen, while Simon concluded his meal and paid his check.
”You didn't told me if you seen Max Maikafer to-day?” he said, as he pocketed a handful of tooth-picks.
”I didn't got to told you whether I did _oder_ I didn't,” Trinkmann replied, ”but one thing I _will_ tell you, Mr. Feinsilver--I am running here a restaurant, not a lumber yard.”
At ten minutes to three Trinkmann stood behind the cas.h.i.+er's desk, so thoroughly enmeshed in the intricacies of his wife's bookkeeping that not even a knowledge of conic sections would have disentangled him. For the twentieth time he added a column of figures and, having arrived at the twentieth different result, he heaved a deep sigh and looked out of the window for inspiration. What little composure remained to him, however, fled at the sight of Max Maikafer, who stood talking to a stout person arrayed in a fur overcoat. As they conversed, Max's gaze constantly reverted to the restaurant door, as though he awaited the appearance of somebody from that quarter, while the man in the fur overcoat made gestures toward a vacant store across the street. He was a stout man of genial, hearty manner, and it seemed to Trinkmann that he could discern on the fur overcoat an imaginary inscription reading: ”_Macht's euch gemutlich hier._”
Trinkmann came from behind the desk and proceeded to the rear of the restaurant, where Louis was cleaning up in company with Marcus and Albert.
”Louis,” he said, ”I want you you should go into the kitchen and tell that pantryman he should wash again the forks in hot water, and stay there till he is through. D'ye hear me?”
Louis nodded and Trinkmann walked hurriedly to the store door. He threw it wide open, after the fas.h.i.+on of the lover in a Palais Royal farce who expects to find a prying maidservant at the keyhole.
Maikafer stood directly outside, but, far from being embarra.s.sed by Trinkmann's sudden exit, he remained completely undisturbed and greeted the restaurateur with calm urbanity.
”Good afternoon, Mr. Trinkmann,” he said, ”ain't it a fine weather?”
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