He's been coming here
ever' afternoon for twelve years, has a cup of coffee,
game of chess, and a pow-wow with a bunch of cronies. If
Baumbach's ever decide to paint the front of their shop
or put in cut glass fixtures and handpainted china, Hugo
Luders would serve an injunction on 'em. Next!"
"Who's the woman with the leathery complexion and the
belt to match, and the untidy hair and the big feet? I
like her face. And why does she sit at a table with all
those strange-looking men? And who are all the men? And
who is the fur-lined grand opera tenor just coming in--
Oh!"
Blackie glanced over his shoulder just as the tall
man in the doorway turned his face toward us. "That?
Why, girl, that's Von Gerhard, the man who gives me one
more year t' live. Look at everybody kowtowing to him.
He don't favor Baumbach's often. Too busy patching up the
nervous wrecks that are washed up on his shores."
The tall figure in the doorway was glancing from
table to table, nodding here and there to an
acquaintance. His eyes traveled the length of the room.
Now they were nearing us. I felt a sudden, inexplicable
tightening at heart and throat, as though fingers were
clutching there.
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