His eyes literally held mine.
He stared at me steadily for several moments.
"How long have you been there?" he asked. "I do not recognize you."
"I commence to-day," I said. "My uncle has just taken the cafe. He will
make me his head-waiter."
"Has your uncle been in the business before?" he asked.
"He kept a saloon in Brooklyn," I answered.
"Made money at it?"
"Yes!"
"Were you with him?"
"No! I was at the Manhattan Hotel."
"Your uncle will not make a fortune at the Cafe Suisse," he remarked.
"I do not think," I answered, "that he will lose one."
"Does he know what you propose?"
I shook my head.
"The fatherland means little to him," I answered. "He has lived in
America too long."
"You are willing to buy your own rifle?" he asked.
"I would rather not," I answered.
"We sell them for a trifle," he continued. "You would not mind ten
shillings."
"I would rather pay nothing," I answered, "but I will pay ten shillings
if I must."
He nodded.
"I cannot accept you myself," he said. "We know too little about you.
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