He turned to Louis, who had approached unobserved. "Bring me some Kreploch soup and a plate gefüllte Rinderbrust," he said, "not too much gravy."
"Give me the same," Ringentaub added, as he gazed about him with the air of an academician at a private view. "You got a nice gemütlicher place here, Mr. Trinkmann," he concluded, "only one thing you should put in."
"What's that?" Trinkmann asked.
Maikafer kicked him on the shins, but Ringentaub failed to notice it.
"Marble-top tables," he said.
CHAPTER NINE
"RUDOLPH WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN"
All that J. Montgomery Fieldstone had done to make his name a theatrical boarding-household word from the Pacific Coast to Forty-sixth Street and Seventh Avenue was to exercise as a producing manager nearly one tenth of the judgment he had displayed as Jacob M. Fieldstone, of Fieldstone & Gips, waist manufacturers; and he voiced his business creed in the following words:
"Now listen to me, kid," he said, "my idea has always been that, no matter how much value you give for the money, goods don't sell themselves. Ain't I right?"