mann declared. "A pantryman is
a feller which no one could depend upon, otherwise he wouldn't be a
pantryman, Louis; but a waiter, that's something else again. If a
waiter wouldn't see that the forks ain't _schmutzig_, who would see it?
The trouble is here nobody takes any interest at all. Me, I got to do
everything myself."

Mr. Trinkmann returned to the cashier's desk over which Mrs. Trinkmann
habitually presided, and taking a cigarette pen-fashion twixt thumb and
forefinger, he lit it slowly and threw away the match with a gesture
that implied more strongly than words, "I am sick and tired of the
whole business."

The fact was that Mr. Trinkmann had undergone that morning as much as
one man could endure without the relief that profanity affords. To be
precise, only three hours before, Mrs. Trinkmann had presented him with
twins, both girls.

"The thing has got to stop sometime, Louis," he said, as he came from
behind the desk. He referred, however, to the ashtrays and the forks.
"Either you would got to turn around a new leaf, or you could act like
a slob somewheres else, understand me, because I wouldn't stand for it
here."

"What are you talking nonsense--act like a slob, Mr. Trinkmann?" Louis
cried. "I am working here for you now six years next _Tishabav_, and
everybody which comes here in the place I always give 'em good
satisfaction."

"You got too swell a head, Louis," Mr. Trinkmann continued, gaining
heat. "You would think you was a partner here the way you act. You talk
to me like I would be the waiter and you would be the boss. What do you
think I am, anyway?"

"But, Mr. Trinkmann----" Louis began.

"Things goes from bad to worst," Trinkmann went on, his voice rising to
a bellow. "You treat me like I would be a dawg."

"_Aber_, Mr. Trinkmann," Louis whimpered, "I----"

"_Koosh!_" Trinkmann shouted. "I got enough of your _Chutzpah_. I am
through with you. Comes three o'clock this afternoon, you would quit.
D'ye hear me?"

Louis nodded. He would have made some articulate protest, but his
Adam's apple had suddenly grown to the dimensions of a dirigible
balloon; and though there surged through his brain every manner of
retort, ironical and defiant, he could think of nothing better to do
than to polish the ashtrays. Polishing powder and rags alone could not
have produced the dazzling brilliancy that ensued. It was a sense of
injustice that lent force to every rub, and when he began to clean the
for