THE FINANCIER.
He had sat at the same table in the same restaurant for years—more years than he cared to count. He was not as young as be used to be.
Always when he could he sat on the comfortable sofa-like seat on the wall side of the table. When that was fully occupied he sat on the other side on an ordinary upright chair, in which he could not lounge at ease.
He sat there now discontentedly, keeping a watchful eye for vacancies in the opposite party.
Half-way through his meal a vacancy occurred. He pushed his plate across the table and went round, sinking with a sigh into the cushioned seat.
The departing customer had left the usual gratuity under the saucer of his coffee-cup. In a minute or two the waitress would collect the cup and saucer and the coins.
But the waitress was busy. The room was full and there was the usual deficient service.
He finished eating, lighted a cigarette and called for a cup of coffee. It was then, I think, the thought came to him.
The other man's cup, saucer and money were still there.
His hand fluttered uncertainly over the cloth among the crockery. There seemed to be nobody looking. His fingers slid under the other man's saucer and in a moment the money was under his own.