"When is he coming back?"
"I didn't ask him. I knew he'd come as soon as he could. I wouldn't pry into his affairs."
"Then you don't know why he went or when he's coming?"
"I trust him, just as you'll want a girl to trust you some day when you love her."
As soon as he could leave her, he went up town, straight to the German Theater. In the box-office sat a young man with hair precisely parted in the middle and sleeked down in two whirls brought low on his forehead.
"I'd like to get Mr. Feuerstein's address," said Otto.
"That dead-beat?" the young man replied contemptuously. "I suppose he got into you like he did into every one else. Yes, you can have his address. And give him one for me when you catch him. He did me out of ten dollars."
Otto went on to the boarding-house in East Sixteenth Street. No, Mr. Feuerstein was not in and it was not known when he would return—he was very uncertain. Otto went to Stuyvesant Square and seated himself where he could see the stoop of the boarding-house. An hour, two hours, two hours and a half passed, and then his patient attitude changed abruptly to action. He saw the soft light hat and the yellow bush coming toward him. Mr. Feuerstein paled slightly as he recognized Otto.
"I'm not going to hurt you," said Otto in a tone which Mr. Feuerstein wished he had the physical strength to punish. "Sit down here—I've got something to say to you."
"I'm in a great hurry. Really, you'll have to come again."