“If it is sweetened in the making,” flashed through Fernet’s mind, “at least we shall have no more of that pellet business.”
“Yes—the result is quite indescribable,” Minetti was repeating, “and positively no bad effects.”
And as he said this he slipped his arm into Fernet’s and guided him with gentle firmness toward the Greek café in question. Fernet felt suddenly helpless and incapable of offering the slightest objection.
A girl took their orders. She had a freckled nose and was frankly Irish. Naturally, she did not fit the picture, and Fernet could see that she was scornful of the whole business.
“Two coffees ... medium,” Minetti repeated, decisively. “And will you have a sweet with it? They sell taffy made of sesame seeds and honey. Or you can have Turkish delight or a pastry dusted with powdered sugar. Really they are all quite delicious.”
Fernet merely shrugged. Minetti ordered Turkish delight. The girl wiped some moisture from the marble table-top and walked toward the coffee-shelf.
“So you were not able to work to-day?” Minetti began, affably. “How did you put in the time?”
“At the library, reading.”
“Something droll? A French novel or—”
“Books on poison!” Fernet shot out with venomous triumph. “I know more than I did yesterday.”