anyhow, Noblestone, if you would be around here at half past twelve
to-morrow, I will see that Harry gets here too, and we will go down to
Wasserbauer's and meet the feller."

It was precisely one o'clock the following day when Morris Perlmutter
seated himself at a table in the rear of Wasserbauer's Café and
Restaurant.

"Yes, sir, right away!" Louis, the waiter, cried, as he deposited a
plate of dill pickles on the adjoining table, at which sat a stout
middle-aged person with a napkin tucked in his neck.

"_Koenigsberger Klops_ is good to-day, Mr. Potash," Louis announced.

"Pushing the stickers, Louis, ain't it?" the man at the next table said.
"You couldn't get me to eat no chopped meat which customers left on
their plates last week already. I never believe in buying seconds,
Louis. Give me a piece of roast beef, well done, and a baked potato."

"Right away, Mr. Potash," Louis said, as he passed on to Perlmutter's
table. "Now, sir, what could I do for you?"

"Me, I am waiting here for somebody," Morris replied. "Bring me a glass
of water and we will give our order later."

"Right away!" said Louis, and hustled off to fill Abe Potash's order,
whereat Abe selected a dill pickle to beguile the tedium of waiting. He
grasped it firmly between his thumb and finger, and neatly bisected it
with his teeth. Simultaneously the pickle squirted, and about a quarter
of a pint of the acid juice struck Morris Perlmutter in the right eye.