“He got what was coming to him,” said a soft feminine voice at Jimmy’s elbow. The man looked to see Little Eva standing at his side. “I didn’t think anybody could do that to Murray,” she continued. “Lord, but it was pretty. He’s had it coming to him ever since I’ve known him, but the big stiff had everybody around this joint buffaloed. He got away with anything he started.”
Feinheimer looked at Little Eva disgustedly.
“He’s my best customer,” he cried, “and a bum waiter comes along and beats him up just when he is trying to have a little innocent sport on Christmas Eve. You take off your apron, young man, and get your time. I won’t have no rough stuff in Feinheimer’s.”
Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and grinned.
“Shouldn’t I wait to see if I can’t do something more for Mr. Murray?” he suggested.
“You get out of here!” cried Feinheimer, “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”
Jimmy laughed and took off his apron as he walked back to the servants’ coat-room. As he emerged again and crossed through the dining-room he saw that Murray had regained consciousness and was sitting at a table wiping the blood from his face with a wet napkin. As Murray’s eyes fell upon his late antagonist he half rose from his chair and shook his fist at Jimmy.
“I’ll get you for this, young feller!” he yelled. “I’ll get you yet, and don’t you forget it.”
“You just had me,” Jimmy called back; “but it didn’t seem to make you very happy.”
He could still hear Murray fuming and cursing as he passed out into the barroom, at the front of which was Feinheimer’s office.