Neither spoke again for some moments. Presently the woman began to stir the bits of lemon and ice in her empty tumbler. Pick watched her sulkily.
“You always take the most expensive drinks. Why can’t you order coffee, as others do?” he snarled.
She glanced at him. “Jew,” she sneered.
“All right; only wait! I’ve come to the end of my rope. I’ve got just money enough left to get back to Paris—”
“You lie, Mannie!”
He paid no attention to this compliment, but lighted a cigar and dropped the match on the floor, grinding it under his heel.
“You have ten thousand francs today! You lie if you say you have not.”
Mr Pick softly dropped his eyelids.
“That is for me, in case of need. I will need it too, very soon!”
His companion glared at him and bit her lip.