You may not know it, people, but Sherry's is the ree-churchiest place in
Nuh Yawk to eat dinner. It's got 'em all beat. So I stopped at the door
and took 'em in. Swell? Oh, you dolls! I stood there trying to work up
the nerve to go in and siddown and order a plate of stew or something
that wouldn't stick me more'n a dollar, just to _say_ I'd been dining at
Sherry's, when I looked across the room, and whadda you think?" He
paused, leaned forward, and shot out the climactic word, "Banneker!"
"Having his dinner there?" asked the incredulous but fascinated Mrs.
Brashear.
"Like he owned the place. Table to himself, against the wall. Waiter
fussin' over him like he loved him. And dressed! Oh, Gee!"
"Did you speak to him?" asked Lambert.
"He spoke to me," answered Wickert, dealing in subtle distinctions. "He
was just finishing his coffee when I sighted him. Gave the waiter haffa
dollar. I could see it on the plate. There I was at the door, and he
said, 'Why, hello, Wickert. Come and have a liquor.' He pronounced it a
queer, Frenchy way. So I said thanks, I'd have a highball."
"Didn't he seem surprised to see you there?" asked Hainer.
Wickert paid an unconscious tribute to good-breeding. "Banneker's the
kind of feller that wouldn't show it if he was surprised.
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