“I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Heinzman,” said he. “I'll bring it around Monday.”
He had reached the gate to the grill before Heinzman called him back.
“By the vay,” the little German beamed up at him, swinging his fat legs as the office-chair tipped back on its springs, “if it is to be a stock company, you vill be selling some of the stock to raise money, is it not so?”
“Yes,” agreed Orde, “I expect so.”
“How much vill you capitalise for?”
“We expect a hundred thousand ought to do the trick,” replied Orde.
“Vell,” said Heinzman, “ven you put it on the market, come and see me.” He nodded paternally at Orde, beaming through his thick spectacles.
That evening, well after six, Orde returned to the hotel. After freshening up in the marbled and boarded washroom, he hunted up Newmark.
“Well, Joe,” said he, “I'm as hungry as a bear. Come on, eat, and I'll tell you all about it.”
They deposited their hats on the racks and pushed open the swinging screen doors that led into the dining-room. There they were taken in charge by a marvellously haughty and redundant head-waitress, who signalled them to follow down through ranks of small tables watched by more stately damsels. Newmark, reserved and precise, irreproachably correct in his neat gray, seemed enveloped in an aloofness as impenetrable as that of the head-waitress herself. Orde, however, was as breezy as ever. He hastened his stride to overtake the head-waitress.