He had offered Yetta one of his imported
cigarettes, but she lighted a horrible weed and blew the smoke in his
face.
At ten o'clock he wished himself away. But a short, stout man with a
lopsided face showing through his tangled beard, stood up and said in
German:--
"All who are not _our_ friends, please leave the house."
No one stirred. The patron went from group to group saluting his
customers and eying those who were not. Whether any password or signal
was given Arthur could not say. When the blond, good-natured Schwab
reached him, Yetta whispered in his ear. The host beamed on the young
American and gave him a friendly poke in the back; Arthur felt as if he
had been knighted. He said this to Yetta, but her attention was
elsewhere. The doors and windows were quickly shut and bolted. She
nudged his elbow--for they were sitting six at the table, much to his
disgust; the other four drank noisily--and he followed her to the top of
the room. A babble broke out as they moved along.
"It's Yetta's new catch. Yetta's rich fellow. Wait until she gets
through with him--poor devil.
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