“I say don't you vish you were on Fif Avenue now?”
“No, I don't,” gruffly.
“You—you don't?” gasped Nicklestick. “My God, where do you wish you were?”
“Over in France,—or better still, in Germany,—that's where I'd like to be. Keep still! Can't you see Careni-Amori is singing?”
Nicklestick was silent for two minutes. Then he volunteered: “Do you know what that song vould cost if she vas to give it in the Metropolitan Opera House, A. A.? A thousand dollars, von thousand simoleons. And we get it for nothing. It ain't possible to realize that you can get something for nothing in these days, is it? I vas saying to Morrie Shine only this morning that—”
“Sh!” hissed an exasperated Brazilian in front of them.
“I guess we better not talk any more, A. A.,” said Nicklestick, deprecatingly. Presently he leaned close to Percival's ear and whispered: “Miss Clinton is looking very fine today, isn't she?” Receiving no reply, he waited a moment and then went on: “Landover is a very lucky dog, eh?” Failing again, he was silent for some time. His next effort was along a totally different line. “I've been feeling some of the people out in regard to the election next week. I think it's a great idea. You got a cinch, A. A. Nobody vants anybody but you for governor. What seems to be—”
“Sh!”
“Oh, you go to the devil!” addressed the exasperated Mr. Nicklestick to the Brazilian. “Ain't we got freedom of speech here on this island? Veil, then! What seems to be troubling most every one, A. A., is who is the best man for clerk. Nobody vants to be treasurer, for why? Because there ain't anything to be treasurer about. Say, where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” replied Percival, as he strode away.