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You take off your apron, young man, and get your time. I won't have no rough stuff in Feinheimer's." Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "Shouldn't I wait to see if I can't do something more for Mr. Murray?" he suggested. "You get out of here!" cried Feinheimer "Get out of here or I'll call the police." Jimmy laughed and took off his apron as he walked back to the servants' coat-room.
And so they went to the picture show, and when it was over he suggested that they have a bite to eat. "I'll tell you," Edith suggested. "Suppose we go to Feinheimer's restaurant and see if we can't get that table that I used to eat at when you waited on me?" They both laughed. "If old Feinheimer sees me he will have me poisoned," said Jimmy. "Not if you have any money to spend in his place."
If you want a better position," she half suggested, "I know my father could help, although he must never know about this to-night." "Thanks," said Jimmy, smiling. "It's awfully good of you, but you must hurry now. There goes your friend." Feinheimer stood as one dazed, looking down at the bulk of his friend and associate. "Mein Gott!" he cried. "What kind of a place you think I run, young man?"
"You handle your mitts like you been there before." "Yes," said Jimmy, smiling, "I've had a little experience in the manly art of self-defense." The two men were sizing him up. "Feinheimer can you?" asked one of them. Jimmy nodded affirmatively. "Got anything else in view?" "No," said Jimmy. "How'd you like a job as one of Brophy's sparring partners?" "I wouldn't mind," said Jimmy.
By this time waiters and patrons were crowding forward from all parts of the room, and Feinheimer, shrieking at the top of his voice, was endeavoring to worm his fat, toadlike body through the cordon of excited spectators. The proprietor reached the scene of carnage just in time to see Jimmy plant a lovely left on the point of Murray's jaw.
As a matter of fact, slumming parties which began and ended at Feinheimer's were of no uncommon occurrence, and as the place was more than usually orderly it was with the greatest safety that society made excursions into the underworld of crime and vice through its medium. Feinheimer liked Jimmy's appearance.
From the view-point of the underworld a pug occupies a more exalted position than a waiter; but oh, well, a job's a job, and at least I won't have to look at that greasy Feinheimer all day."
She looked at him quizzically for a moment, as she had looked at him often since he had gone to work for Feinheimer. "You're a funny guy," she said. "I can't quite figure you out. What are you doing here anyway?" "I never claimed to be much of a waiter," said Jimmy, "but I didn't know I was so rotten that a regular customer of the place couldn't tell what I was trying to do."
He's had it coming to him ever since I've known him, but the big stiff had everybody around this joint buffaloed. He got away with anything he started." Feinheimer looked at Little Eva disgustedly. "He's my best customer," he cried, "and a bum waiter comes along and beats him up just when he is trying to have a little innocent sport on Christmas Eve.
He was big and strong, and the fact that Feinheimer always retained one or two powerful men upon his payroll accounted in a large measure for the orderliness of his place. Occasionally one might start something at Feinheimer's, but no one was ever known to finish what he started.
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