The man pulled a pen from his pocket, then lifted his thumb and winked one eye shut like an artist gauging his subject. "Hold still. I want to get this right." He proceeded to draw a mustache and beard on Peter's picture in the newspaper.
Peter was beginning to feel amused.
"Well," said the old man, taking up their conversation without looking up from his artwork, "you weren't there for the show, but it is your product just the same. Good work, son."
"Thanks."
The waitress arrived. His portrait completed, the man shoved the paper across the table for the waitress to see. "What do you think? Look like him?"
She looked at the photo and smiled politely, unaware that it was really Peter in person and in the newspaper. "A mineral water?" she said.
"Thank you, my dear. Anything for you, Mr. Jones?"
"No thanks."
The man closed his eyes and turned his smiling face into the sun. As Peter studied him, he felt a dim glow of recognition. Had he met him before, perhaps seen a photo of him somewhere? There was something about the cynicism in the man's eye. No doubt he was a former businessman well into his retirement, for with his eyes closed, he looked maybe seventy-five.
"Here you are, Mr. Holmes," the waitress said.