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Updated: May 15, 2025
His manner seemed to indicate that, while she met with the approval of Fontelli, the slave of her sex, to Fontelli, the employer, she appealed in vain. He gave his mustache a sorrowful twirl. "Ah, no," he sighed. "Not da cashier do I need. I take-a myself da money." Mr. Jarvis looked at him coldly. He continued to look at him coldly.
An ingratiating, but nervous, smile came into view behind the pointed mustache. "Hey, Tony," said Mr. Jarvis, coming at once to the point, "I want you to know dis loidy. She's going to be cashier at dis joint." Signor Fontelli looked at Betty and shook his head. He smiled deprecatingly.
The glass window bore in battered letters the name, Fontelli. "Dis is de joint," he said. Inside the restaurant a dreamy-eyed Italian sat gazing at vacancy and twirling a pointed mustache. In a far corner a solitary customer was finishing a late breakfast. Signor Fontelli, for the sad-eyed exile was he, sprang to his feet at the sight of Mr. Jarvis' well-known figure.
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