entered the shop. The girls, meanwhile, had taken their departure, but the messenger boy, fascinated, lingered.
A pimply-faced clerk, with hands like the flippers of the seal in the Aquarium, hurried to Paul's side.
Do you want a coat, mister? he demanded.
No. I want to interview that fellow in your window.
Eyeing the false customer with suspicion, the clerk made no move.
I'm not a detective, Paul averred defensively. Reflecting afterwards, it seemed to him that this had been an idiotic remark to make.
The clerk beckoned to the shop-keeper, an old and bearded Jew who wore a long, black coat and a skull cap.
I am interested, Paul explained, in the young man in your window.
No, we don't want to buy nothing, Mr. Shidrowitz rejoined.
He's deef, the clerk offered by way of enlightenment. You have to yell.
I want to talk with the man in the window! Paul shouted.
No, we don't want nobody in the window. The old man shook his head cautelously. We got him already this morning.
The clerk, waving his unseemly flippers, came to the rescue. You can't see him now. He's workin'.
What time does he get through?
