"Let me see," Trinkmann said, advancing to the table; "might it be some Bismarck herring, maybe."
"Bismarck herring ain't poison," Feinsilver said, examining the fork closely. "Bismarck herring never harmed nobody, Trinkmann; but this here fork has got poison onto it."
He turned it over in his hand and sniffed at it suspiciously.
"Why, bless my soul," he roared. "Somebody has been cleaning it with polishing powder."
"Well, suppose they did?" Trinkmann said calmly.
"Suppose they did!" Simon exclaimed. "Why, don't you know you should never clean with polishing powder something which it could touch a person's lips? A friend of mine, by the name Lambdan, once puts his cigar onto an ashtray which they are cleaning it with this powder, and the widder sues in the courts the feller that runs the restaurant for ten thousand dollars yet. From just putting the cigar in his mouth he gets some of the powder on his tongue, Trinkmann, and in two hours, understand me, he turned black all over. It ruined the restaurant man—a decent, respectable feller by the name Lubliner. His mother was Max Maikafer's cousin."
Trinkmann grew pale and started for the kitchen.
"Albert," he said huskily, "take from the tables the ashtrays and the forks and tell that pantryman he should wash 'em off right away in boiling water."
He followed Albert, and after he had seen that his instructions were obeyed he returned to the desk. In the meantime Simon had engaged Louis in earnest conversation.
"Louis," Simon said, "I am just seeing Max Maikafer, and he says you shouldn't worry, because you wouldn't lose your job at all."