He did not appear impressed.
“Does that man take the broom and sweep a little for the street-cleaner when he meets her?” he asked, after a brief period for reflection.
“We do not have women street-cleaners in America.”
Then he yawned, with no attempt at disguise. She felt piqued at such an open display of ennui, and turned from him to the now brilliant shore past which they were gliding.
After a minute or two he took out his note-book and pencil.
“Deutsches-Filiale, Munich, you said, did you not?”
“Can you write my name?” he asked.
“If strict necessity should drive me to it.”
“Write it here, please.”