His courage remained with him until he had refastened his
apron, and then he discerned Marcus and Albert to be regarding him with
so mournful a gaze that the balloon again expanded in his throat, and
forthwith--to pursue the simile further--it burst. He opened the door
leading from the kitchen to the paved space littered with packing
boxes, which had once been the backyard, and despite the cold March
weather he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

Ten minutes later the first luncheon customer arrived and Louis
hastened to wait upon him. It was Max Maikafer, salesman for Freesam,
Mayer & Co., and he greeted Louis with the familiarity of six years'
daily acquaintance.

"_Nu_, Louis," he said, "what's the matter you are catching such a cold
in your head?"

Louis only sniffled faintly in reply.

"A feller bums round till all hours of the night, understand me," Max
continued, "and sooner or later, Louis, a lowlife--a _Shikkerer_--gives
him a _Schlag_ on the top from the head, _verstehest du_, and he would
got worser as a cold, Louis."

Louis received this admonition with a nod, since he was incapable of
coherent speech.

"So, therefore, Louis," Max concluded, as he looked in a puzzled
fashion at Louis' puffed eyelids, "you should bring me some _Kreploch_
soup and a little _gefuellte Rinderbrust_, not too much gravy."

He watched Louis retire to the kitchen and then he motioned to Albert,
who was industriously polishing the glasses at a nearby table.

"What's the matter with Louis, Albert?" he asked.

"Fired," Albert said out of the corner of his mouth, with one eye on
the cashier's desk, where Mr. Trinkmann was fast approaching the
borderline of insanity over a maze of figures representing the previous
day's receipts.

"What for?" Max asked.

"I should know what for!" Albert exclaimed. "The boss is mad on account
he got twins, so he picks on Louis that the ashtrays ain't clean and
the forks, neither. So Louis he don't say nothing, and Trinkmann gets
mad and fires him."

He glanced furtively at the cashier's desk just as Trinkmann suddenly
tore up his paperful of figures, and in one frightened bound Albert was
once more at his glass polishing.

"Well, Trinkmann," Max cried, as he made ready to absorb the soup by
tucking one corner of his napkin into the top of his collar, "I must
got to congradulate you."

Trinkmann was on his way to the kitchen for the purpose of abusing the
pantryman as a mea