"I would like Louis," Feinsilver replied; "so go ahead, Albert, and tell Louis when he gets through serving those two fellers over there to wait on me."
"What's the matter you ain't giving your order to Albert, Mr. Feinsilver?" Trinkmann asked.
"Albert is all right," Feinsilver replied, "but Louis knows just how I want things, Trinkmann. You ain't got no objections to me waiting for Louis?"
"Why should I got objections, Mr. Feinsilver?" Trinkmann protested.
"I don't know why you should got objections, Trinkmann," Feinsilver said, "and if you did got 'em I would wait for Louis anyway."
He closed the discussion by spearing half a dill pickle with a fork and inserting it endwise in his mouth. Hardly had the metal tines touched his lips, however, than he hastily disgorged the pickle and uttered a resounding "T'phoo-ee!"
"What are you trying to do here to me, Trinkmann?" he demanded. "Poison me?"
He dipped his napkin into the glass of water that stood on the table and performed an elaborate prophylaxis about his mouth and teeth.
"What d'ye mean, poison you?" Trinkmann cried.
"Why, there is something here on the fork," Simon declared.