“Give my best to Olga,” said Angela. He did not answer. He walked outside into the cold air of the Arctic night. The whiskey had warmed him and he did not feel the cold. He was glad he had taken it.
The street was crowded with sailors. They were becoming more noisy. Bervick walked on the extreme edge of the road in the shadow of the buildings. He wanted no trouble tonight.
The restaurant where Olga worked was called the Fall Inn. It was owned by a man named Fall who had a great sense of humor. Olga used to laugh a lot with Bervick when she thought of the funny name Mr Fall had thought of. She liked to explain to customers why the name of the restaurant was so funny.
The Fall Inn was a large, well-lighted frame house on one of the lanes that went back from the main street. Near it was a withered evergreen tree surrounded by a picket fence. This had been Mrs Fall’s idea.
Bervick stepped inside. He stood in the doorway, accustoming his eyes to the light. Behind the counter, stood Olga. She was waiting on a dozen or so customers. Olga was a tall girl with a slim figure. Her features were rather flat and without distinction, but her eyes were a beautiful shiny china blue. Her hair was silver-gold, long and untidy, and her complexion was white and smooth. She had thick legs and graceful hands.
She saw Bervick when he came in. She looked away quickly and busied herself with the cash register.
He went over to her and sat down at the counter. “How are you?” he asked, not knowing anything else to say.
“What do you want?” She spoke nervously.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “I guess it’s O.K. for me to sit here.”
“Go ahead, it’s a public place.” Still she did not go away. A man across the room shouted for some coffee. Slowly she went back into the kitchen. She seemed frightened.