"Koosh!" Trinkmann roared, and Louis fell back three paces; "don't you answer me back. Ain't you got no respect at all?"
Louis made no reply, but slunk away to the rear of the restaurant.
"Schlemiel!" Simon hissed, as Louis passed him. "Why don't you stand up to him?"
Louis shrugged hopelessly and continued on to the kitchen, while Simon concluded his meal and paid his check.
"You didn't told me if you seen Max Maikafer to-day?" he said, as he pocketed a handful of tooth-picks.
"I didn't got to told you whether I did oder I didn't," Trinkmann replied, "but one thing I will tell you, Mr. Feinsilver—I am running here a restaurant, not a lumber yard."
At ten minutes to three Trinkmann stood behind the cashier's desk, so thoroughly enmeshed in the intricacies of his wife's bookkeeping that not even a knowledge of conic sections would have disentangled him. For the twentieth time he added a column of figures and, having arrived at the twentieth different result, he heaved a deep sigh and looked out of the window for inspiration. What little composure remained to him, however, fled at the sight of Max Maikafer, who stood talking to a stout person arrayed in a fur overcoat. As they conversed, Max's gaze constantly reverted to the restaurant door, as though he awaited the appearance of somebody from that quarter, while the man in the fur overcoat made gestures toward a vacant store across the street. He was a stout man of genial, hearty manner, and it seemed to Trinkmann that he could discern on the fur overcoat an imaginary inscription reading: "Macht's euch gemütlich hier."
Trinkmann came from behind the desk and proceeded to the rear of the restaurant, where Louis was cleaning up in company with Marcus and Albert.
"Louis," he said, "I want you you should go into the kitchen and tell that pantryman he should wash again the forks in hot water, and stay there till he is through. D'ye hear me?"