"Heaven on earth, will you look! A policeman is arguing with him."
Hewitt shook with laughter.
"But I bought him out," protested Fitzgerald. "There's no law to prevent me selling these."
"Oh, I'm wise. We want no horse-play on this corner; no joyful college stunts," roughly.
Fitzgerald saw that frankness must be his card, so he played it. "Look here, do you see those two gentlemen in the window there?"
"The club?"
"Yes. I made a wager that I could sell one of these statues in half an hour. If you force me off I'll lose a dinner."
"Well, I'll make a bargain with you. You can stand here for half an hour; but if you open your mouth to a woman, I'll run you in. No fooling; I'm talking straight. I'm going to see what your game is."
"I agree."
So the policeman turned to his crossing and reassumed his authority over traffic, all the while never losing sight of the impromptu vender.
Many pedestrians paused. To see a well-dressed young man hawking plaster Venuses was no ordinary sight. They knew that some play was going on, but, with that inveterate suspicion of the city pedestrian, none of them stopped to speak or buy. Some newsboys gathered round and offered a few suggestions. Fitzgerald gave them back in kind. No woman spoke, but there wasn't one who passed that didn't look at him with more than ordinary curiosity. He was enjoying it. It reminded him of the man who offered sovereigns for shillings, and never exchanged a coin.