“Oh, Gentleman Jim. Oh, I heard of him. I always thought he was some kind of a crook. I heard of him all right. What’s the story?”
“Well, when he was here two years ago—”
“Was he here? In Gibbsville? I never knew that,” said Frannie.
“Yes, he was here for a banquet. Anyhow, one of the reporters got to talking to him about his title of Gentleman Jim, and he told the story about how he was in the subway in New York or something and somebody started pushing him around—no, that’s the one about Benny Leonard. Wait a minute. Oh, yes. This is it. Somebody was asking him why he was always so polite to everybody. He is the politest man in the world, I guess, and he said, ‘Well, when you’ve been heavyweight champion of the world, gentlemen, you can afford to be polite.’”
“What did he mean by that?” said Frannie.
“What!” said Lute. “Let it go, Frannie. It isn’t that important.”
“Well, I just don’t see what that has to do with Whitney Hofman being democratic. I think he’s very democratic.”
“I think you better have a shot,” said Lute.
“Am I dumb or something?” she said. “You act as though I said something dumb or nay-eeve.”
“Not at all. You want ginger ale with yours, or straight?” said Lute.
“I’ll have a straight one I guess, then you can give me another in a highball.”
“That’s talking,” said Lute. “Oh. Don’t look right away, but I think we’re going to have a little company. You can look now.”
“You mean English? He’s coming over. Introduce me to him, will you?”
“Sure. If he ever makes it,” said Lute.
Julian English had stood up and looked around the room and had recognized Lute Fliegler. Immediately he told Caroline and Kitty and Whit and Carter that he had to talk to Lute. Matter of business that couldn’t wait. He excused himself and began to make his way, assisting himself by taking hold of the backs of chairs and people’s shoulders, to the table where Lute and Frannie were seated.
He extended his hand to Lute. “Luther, I came all the way over here to wish you a happy birthday. All the way over here. Happy birthday, Luther.”
“Thanks, boss. Will you sit down and have a drink with us? This is Mrs. Snyder. Mrs. Snyder, this is Mr. English.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Frannie, and began to get up.
“Not leaving?” said Julian.
“Oh, no,” said Frannie. “I’ll stay.”
“Very good. Very, very good. Very good. Luther, I came over here to talk to you on a matter of business—no, sit down, Mrs. Snyder. Please sit down. You can hear what I have to say. Luther, have you any Scotch?”
“No, I only have rye, I’m sorry to say.”
“What of it?” said Julian. “Who is that man over there, Luther?”
“Where?”
“The one that’s staring at us. I think he’s dead. Did you ever hear the story about the dead man in the subway, Luther?”
“No, I don’t think I did.”
“Lucky boy. Lucky boy, Luther. I always said you were a fine fellow. Are you having a good time?”
“Pretty good.”
“How about you, Mrs. Snyder? Have I the name right?”
“Yes, that’s right, Mr. English. I’m having a pretty good time.”
“Well, I’m not. Or at least not till I came to this table. Are you married, Mrs. Snyder?”
“Yes, I’m married.”
“She’s Dutch Snyder’s wife,” said Lute.
“Oh. Oh, of course. Of course. Dutch Snyder. Well, I’ll be God damned. What ever became of old Dutch? I haven’t seen old Dutch in years.”
“He’s dancing,” said Frannie.
“Dancing, is he? He was always a great one for dancing, was our Dutch. So you married Dutch. How nice. How jolly. Do you think Dutch has any Scotch, Luther?”
“No, he only has rye, too,” said Lute.
“What of it? Is that any of my business who has rye or who has Scotch? Well. I think I have to leave you now, my friends. It’s been a great little visit and I want to tell you I enjoyed every minute of it. You be nice to Mrs. Snyder, Luther. She is my ideal woman. But now I have to go. I see little old Al Grecco over there and I think if I play my cards right I could get a drink of Scotch out of him. I understand he knows a fellow that can get it for you.”
“So I hear,” said Lute.
Julian stood up. “Mrs. Snyder—a pleasure. A pleasure indeed. Luther—I’ll see you some other time. Luther and I work together, Mrs. Snyder. We’re buddies. He’s my buddy, and I’m his buddy. He’s my buddy, I’m her Joe. Ju. If a buddy, meet a buddy, looking for the Scutch. If a buddy, meet a buddy, how’s my old friend Dutch? Auf wiedersehen.”
“Auf wiedersehen,” said Lute.
Julian moved away, and they saw him sitting down at Al Grecco’s table, in Helene Holman’s chair. Helene was singing Love for Sale: “Let the poets pipe of love in their childish way; we know every type of love better far than they…”
“Don’t get up, Al, don’t get up,” said Julian.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Al Grecco.
“I wanted to see you on a business proposition,” said Julian.
“Well,” said Al, rising. “I guess we can—”
“Oh—” Julian put a hand on Al’s shoulder. “Sit down, sit down. We can talk here. I wanted to know if you knew anybody that could let me have some Scotch.”
“Why, sure,” said Al. “What’s the matter? Don’t Lebrix know you? He ought to. I’ll fix it right away. Waiter! Eddie!”
“No, no,” said Julian. “I can get it here all right. They’ll sell it to me. But I don’t want to buy it. I simply don’t want to buy drinks, Al. If there’s anything I don’t want to do it’s buy a drink. I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll buy—oh, that man over there, I’ll buy him a drink. But I don’t want to buy a drink. See what I mean?”
“No. I don’t exactly see what you mean, Mr. English.”
“Just call me Mr. English, Al. You call me Mr. English and I’ll call you Al. The hell with this formality. We’ve known each other all our lives. You know, we Gibbsville people, we have to stick together in a place like this. If we don’t you know what happens? Those Hazleton people gang us. What was I talking about just before you said that?”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. About drinks. Uh, if I don’t want to do anything it’s buy a drink. You know why? You want to know why I feel that way?”
“Sure.”
“Well, it’s like love, Al,” said Julian. “You know what I mean? Or don’t you see what I mean? You buy a drink, and that’s all it is, just a bought drink. Whereas, on the other hand, au contraire, au contraire, Al, uh, you uh, uh, somebody gives you a drink and that’s like love. Why, say, who is this?”
“You got my chair, Mister,” said Helene Holman, who had finished her song.
“Not at all,” said Julian. “Sit right down. Don’t apologize. Just sit down. If this is your chair you needn’t apologize. Just sit right down and Al will get another chair for us, won’t you, Al?”
Al pulled a chair from another table.
“Shake hands with Mr. English,” said Al. “He’s a friend of Ed’s.”
“Are you a friend of Ed’s?” said Julian to Helene.
“Yes, I guess you’d call it that,” said Helene.
“Fine,” said Julian. “Ed who?”
“Ed Charney,” said Al.
“Oh-h-h. Ed Charney,” said Julian. “Well, my God, why didn’t you say so? My God. Jesus Christ Almighty, why didn’t you say so? I didn’t think you were a friend of Ed Charney’s. My God.”