And all this was his to conquer, for friendship’s sake.
He went to a hotel. While he had to go back to the Zapps’, of course, he did not wish, by meeting those old friends, to spoil his first day. No, it was cheerfuler to stand at a window of his cheap hotel on Seventh Avenue, watching the “good old American crowd”—Germans, Irishmen, Italians, and Jews. He went to the Nickelorion and grasped the hand of the ticket-taker, the Brass-button Man, ejaculating: “How are you? Well, how’s things going with the old show?… I been away couple of months.”
“Fine and dandy! Been away, uh? Well, it’s good to get back to the old town, heh? Summer hotel?”
“Unk?”
“Why, you’re the waiter at Pat Maloney’s, ain’t you?”
Next morning Mr. Wrenn made himself go to the Souvenir and Art Novelty Company. He wanted to get the teasing, due him for staying away so short a time, over as soon as possible. The office girl, addressing circulars, seemed surprised when he stepped from the elevator, and blushed her usual shy gratitude to the men of the office for allowing her to exist and take away six dollars weekly.
Then into the entry-room ran Rabin, one of the traveling salesmen.
“Why, hul-lo, Wrenn! Wondered if that could be you. Back so soon? Thought you were going to Europe.”
“Just got back. Couldn’t stand it away from you, old scout!”
“You must have been learning to sass back real smart, in the Old Country, heh? Going to be with us again? Well, see you again soon. Glad see you back.”