“I won’t eat down-stairs with that German head waiter. He was damned snotty when I was getting Mike up-stairs.”
“He was snotty to us, too.”
“Let’s go out and eat in the town.”
We went down the stairs. On the stairs we passed a girl coming up with a covered tray.
“There goes Brett’s lunch,” Bill said.
“And the kid’s,” I said.
Outside on the terrace under the arcade the German head waiter came up. His red cheeks were shiny. He was being polite.
“I haff a tabul for two for you gentlemen,” he said.
“Go sit at it,” Bill said. We went on out across the street.
We ate at a restaurant in a side street off the square. They were all men eating in the restaurant. It was full of smoke and drinking and singing. The food was good and so was the wine. We did not talk much. Afterward we went to the café and watched the fiesta come to the boiling-point. Brett came over soon after lunch. She said she had looked in the room and that Mike was asleep.