He threw the paper down, and, settling back in his chair, fell into a pleasing reverie. He saw his release from sordid toil close at hand. He would travel and enjoy his life. Pity the diamond hadn’t come twenty years before. As for the sailor, well, poor fellow, why didn’t he stay when he was asked?
The cat, still dozing, became aware of a strong strange odor. In a lazy fashion it opened one eye, and discovered that an old, shrivelled up little man, with a brown face, was standing by the counter. It watched him lazily, but warily, out of a half-closed eye, and then, finding that he appeared to be quite harmless, closed it again.
The intruder was not an impatient type of customer. He stood for some time gazing round him; then a thought struck him, and he approached the cat and stroked it with a masterly hand. Never, in the course of its life, had the animal met such a born stroker. Every touch was a caress, and a gentle thrum, thrum rose from its interior in response.
Something went wrong with the stroker. He hurt. The cat started up suddenly and jumped behind the counter. The dark gentleman smiled an evil smile, and, after waiting a little longer, tapped on the counter.
The pawnbroker came from the little room beyond, with the newspaper in his hand, and his brow darkened as he saw the customer. He was of a harsh and dominant nature, and he foresaw more distasteful threats.
“Well, what do you want?” he demanded abruptly.
“Morning, sir,” said the brown man in perfect English; “fine day.”
“The day’s well enough,” said the Jew.
“I want a little talk with you,” said the other suavely, “a little, quiet, reasonable talk.”
“You’d better make it short,” said the Jew. “My time is valuable.”