The man in the velvet cap gestured his relief and called shrilly to someone within. A girl came out; a dark-eyed, deep-breasted girl, the perfect type of Jewess.
“Levitsky’s gone down to get his breakfast at Sam’s,” said she.
“Much obliged,” said Larry. “Come on, Goose.”
Down the street a scarlet lettered sign flamed conspicuously among a wilderness of others, and thither they hurried and entered at the door over which it hung. The revolving fans drove the hot, strong-odoured breath of the place into their faces; waiters, greasy aproned and perspiring, rushed about dexterously balancing pyramids of food-filled crockery; the room resounded with shouted orders and the incessant ringing of the cash register.
“There he is,” said Larry.
A stocky young man, in a collarless shirt, was just about to seat himself at a table; he greeted them surprisedly.
“Vy cert’ny,” answered he, “ye kin see me. But I cand sell no bolicy here, chends; there ish doo many beoble.”
“We ain’t lookin’ for policy. We want to see youse about yer little old vote in the convention.”
Levitsky grinned. “Oh!” said he, “vell, sit down. Vill you have anyding to eat?”
“No!” said Larry. “We’ll on’y stay in here a second.”