He couldn't
have been as surprised as I was, at that. We went to the bar and had a
drink, and then I ast him what'd _he_, have on _me_, and all the time I
was sizing him up. I'm telling you, he looked like he'd grown up in
Sherry's."
The rest of the conversation, it appeared from Mr. Wickert's spirited
sketch, had consisted mainly in eager queries from himself, and
good-humored replies by the other.
Did Banneker eat there every night?
Oh, no! He wasn't up to that much of a strain on his finances.
But the waiters seemed to know him, as if he was one of the regulars.
In a sense he was. Every Monday he dined there. Monday was his day off.
Well, Mr. Wickert (awed and groping) _would_ be damned! All alone?
Banneker, smiling, admitted the solitude. He rather liked dining alone.
Oh, Wickert couldn't see that at all! Give him a pal and a coupla lively
girls, say from the Ladies' Tailor-Made Department, good-lookers and
real dressers; that was _his_ idea of a dinner, though he'd never tried
it at Sherry's. Not that he couldn't if he felt like it. How much did
they stick you for a good feed-out with a cocktail and maybe a bottle of
Italian Red?
Well, of course, that depended on which way was Wickert going? Could
Banneker set him on his way? He was taking a taxi to the Avon Theater,
where there was an opening.
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