They shook hands, and Abe retraced his steps to the hotel, where he again inquired for Marks Pasinsky.
"He hasn't come back yet, Mr. Potash," the clerk said, and Abe retired to the writing-room and smoked a cigar by way of a sedative.
From six o'clock that evening until midnight he smoked so many sedative cigars and made so many fruitless inquiries at the desk for Marks Pasinsky, that his own nerves as well as the night clerk's were completely shattered. Before Abe retired he paid a farewell visit to the desk, and both he and the clerk gave vent to their emotions in a great deal of spirited profanity.
There was no rest for Abe that night, and when at length he fell asleep it was almost daylight. He awoke at nine and, dressing himself fireman fashion, he hurried to the desk.
"What time did Marks Pasinsky come in?" he asked the clerk.
"Why, Mr. Pasinsky didn't come in at all," the clerk replied.
Abe pushed his hat back from his forehead.
"Say, young feller," he said, "do you got the gall to tell me that Marks Pasinsky ain't come back since he went over to the Altringham with that short, dark feller yesterday afternoon?"
"Call me a liar, why don't you?" the clerk retorted.
"You're a fresh young feller!" Abe exclaimed. "Couldn't you answer a civil question?"