“Allright. Plis you give me key.”
“But I cant do that. Suppose I was late?”
“Tat’s vy I vant te key. I’m trough vit vaiting.”
“All right take the key..... I hope you understand that after this insulting behavior it will be impossible for me to remain longer under your roof.”
Mrs. Budkowitz laughed hoarsely. “Allright ven you pay me fifteen dollar you can take avay your grip.” He put the two keys tied together with string into her gray hand and slammed the door and strode down the street.
At the corner of Third Avenue he stopped and stood shivering in the hot afternoon sunlight, sweat running down behind his ears. He was too weak to swear. Jagged oblongs of harsh sound broke one after another over his head as an elevated past over. Trucks grated by along the avenue raising a dust that smelled of gasoline and trampled horsedung. The dead air stank of stores and lunchrooms. He began walking slowly uptown towards Fourteenth Street. At a corner a crinkly warm smell of cigars stopped him like a hand on his shoulder. He stood a while looking in the little shop watching the slim stained fingers of the cigarroller shuffle the brittle outside leaves of tobacco. Remembering Romeo and Juliet Arguelles Morales he sniffed deeply. The slick tearing of tinfoil, the careful slipping off of the band, the tiny ivory penknife for the end that slit delicately as flesh, the smell of the wax match, the long inhaling of bitter
crinkled deep sweet smoke. And now sir about this little matter of the new Northern Pacific bond issue.... He clenched his fists in the clammy pockets of his raincoat. Take my key would she the old harridan? I’ll show her, damn it. Joe Harland may be down and out but he’s got his pride yet.
He walked west along Fourteenth and without stopping to think and lose his nerve went down into a small basement stationery store, strode through unsteadily to the back, and stood swaying in the doorway of a little office where sat at a rolltop desk a blueeyed baldheaded fat man.
“Hello Felsius,” croaked Harland.
The fat man got to his feet bewildered. “God it aint Mr. Harland is it?”