“It will. Just wait. One way or another you’ll capitalize that reputation. That’s the way New York is.”
“That isn’t the way I am, however. I’ll capitalize my brains and ability, if I’ve got ’em; not my gun-play.”
“Your gun-play will advertise your brains and ability, then,” retorted Cressey. “Nobody expects you to make a princely income shooting up toughs on the water-front. But your having done it will put you in the lime-light where people will notice you. And being noticed is the beginning of success in this-man’s-town. I’m not sure it isn’t the end, too. Just see how the head waiter fell all over himself when you came in. I expect he’s telling that bunch at the long table yonder who you are now.”
“Let him,” returned Banneker comfortably, his long-bred habit of un-self-consciousness standing him in good stead. “They’ll all forget it soon enough.”
As he glanced over at the group around the table, the man who was apparently acting as host caught his eye and nodded in friendly fashion.
“Oh, you know Marrineal, do you?” asked Cressey in surprise.
“I’ve seen him, but I’ve never spoken to him. He dines sometimes in a queer little restaurant way downtown, just off the Swamp. Who is he, anyway?”
“Puzzle. Nobody in the clubs knows him. He’s a spender. Bit of a rounder, too, I expect. Plays the Street, and beats it, too.”
“Who’s the little beauty next him?”
“You a rising light of Park Row, and not know Betty Raleigh? She killed em dead in London in romantic comedy and now she’s come back here to repeat.”