"What'll you have to drink, gentlemen?" the waiter inquired.
"Nothing," said Anderson, knowing I was broke. The waiter raised his
continental eyebrows understandingly.
"Mr. Sklarz invites you, gentlemen, to drink his health--at his expense."
"Two glasses," Anderson ordered. They were brought. We raised them in
silent toast to the little red-faced man. He arose and bowed as we drank.
"We'll probably have him on our hands now for an hour," Anderson frowned.
I feared the same. But Mr. Sklarz reseated himself and, with many head
bowings in our direction, returned to his soup.
"What do you make of our magnanimous friend?" I asked. Anderson shrugged
his shoulders.
"He's probably celebrating something," he said. "A queer old boy, isn't
he?"
* * * * *
The waiter appeared a third time.
"What'll it be, gentlemen?" he inquired, smiling. "Mr. Sklarz is buying
for the house."
For the house. There were some fifteen men eating in the place. Then our
friend, despite his unassuming appearance, was evidently a creature of
wealth! Well, this was growing interesting. We ordered wine again.
"Ask Mr. Sklarz if he will favor us by joining us at our table for this
drink," I told the waiter.
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