“Never mind!” he interrupted. “You don’t have to stay here. If you did, it’d be different. Go up-stairs an’ pack up!”
She looked at him with momentary dread, but Jimmy waved his hand toward the doorway. Two of the customers got up to interfere, but he gave them threatening glances. Erna moved away and then stopped in uncertainty. “Go ahead!” he ordered her. She tried to go, but Landsmann stood in the doorway. His face was struggling between anger and dignity.
“Erna!” he commanded.
She stared at him.
“Go right up-stairs and—”
The storekeeper noticed Jimmy’s threatening attitude and hesitated. “Go on!” that individual encouraged him. “Got any more to say?”
Evidently, the German had not.
“Then get ’er money ready an’ see there ain’t a cent short, you lousy Dutchman! I’ll see she gets her deserts. Hurry up, you fat slob, or I’ll help you!”
Herr Landsmann disappeared and so did Erna. Jimmy, master of the moment, gave the dining room denizens a look of contemptuous pride and likewise went out.
Consternation prevailed. Each patron wanted to express an opinion, and argument rose high. Only one of them held his peace: John Carstairs. He sat aloof, a picture of gloom and stupor.