Suddenly a voice sounded above the roar: “Heh! Landsmann, wohin?” (“Comrade, where are you going?”) I stared eagerly about me. Under a near-by arc-light stood a young man of sunburned face, in a stout, somewhat ragged suit, and a cloth cap. When he saw me look at him he dived into the crowd and fought his way to my side.
“Ah!” he shouted in German. “I knew only one of the boys would blow into town with a knapsack and a corduroy suit! Just got in from Zagazig myself. How long have you been away? Business any good down at the coast? Don’t believe it is. Cairo’s the place for easy winnings.”
As he talked we left behind the howling crowd. No need to ask where he was taking me.
“You’ll meet all the comrades where we’re going,” continued my companion.
We crossed a corner where street-cars clanged their way through a great crowd, and turned down a street faced by brightly lighted shops.
“This street is the Moosky,” said the German. “Good old lane. Many a piaster I’ve picked up in her.”
He dodged into a side alley, jogged over a street, and entered the lodging of “the comrades.” It was a wine-shop with a kitchen in the rear, on the lowest floor of a four-story building. A shuffling Jew was drawing beer and wine for several groups of noisy Europeans at the tables. The Jew kept up a continual jabber in Yiddish, to which the drinkers replied now and then in German. A woman wandered in from the back room with a steaming plate of meat and potatoes.
“The place has lodgings,” said my companion, pointing at the ceiling. “They cost three piasters. You can still eat a small piaster worth.” For I had told him how much money I had.
By the time I had finished eating, the “comrades” were demanding that I tell them who I was and where I came from. As all the party spoke German, I gave them a short account of myself in that language.
“And what countryman are you?” asked a youth at the next table.