Herr Lutz said to Peter, “There is still the 'verdammte' fog. Together we will go part of the way.”
So they went together. But on the top of the dark and crooked staircase Herr Gottfried stopped Peter.
“Boy,” he said and he rubbed his nose with his finger as he always did when he was nervous and embarrassed, “I shouldn't go to the shop for a week or two if I were you.”
“Not go?” said Peter astonished.
“No—for reason why—well—who knows? The days come and they go, and again it will be all right for you. I should rub up the Editors, I should—”
“Rub up the Editors?” repeated Peter still confused.
“Yes—have other irons, you know—often enough other irons are handy—”
“Did Zanti tell you to say this to me?”
“No, he says nothing. It is only I—as a friend, you understand—”
“Well, thank you very much,” said Peter at last. Herr Gottfried, he reflected, must think that he, Peter, had mints of money if he could so lightly and on so slender a warning propose his abandoning his precious two pounds a week. Moreover there was loyalty to Mr. Zanti to be considered.... Anyway, what did it all mean?