“Well enough.”
“I’d think so,” commented the other, taking in the general effect of Banneker’s easy habituation to the standards of the restaurant. “You don’t own this place, do you?” he added.
From another member of the world which had inherited or captured Sherry’s as part of the spoils of life, the question might have been offensive. But Banneker genuinely liked Cressey.
“Not exactly,” he returned lightly. “Do I give that unfortunate impression?”
“You give very much the impression of owning old Jules—or he does—and having a proprietary share in the new head waiter. Are you here much?”
“Monday evenings, only.”
“This is a good cocktail,” observed Cressey, savoring it expertly. “Better than they serve to me. And, say, Banneker, did Mertoun make you that outfit?”
“Yes.”
“Then I quit him,” declared the gilded youth.
“Why? Isn’t it all right?”