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Updated: April 30, 2025
He knew that the Guggenheimers of Chicago, after they had stayed there a month and had worried the poor life out of him, would give him two dollars fifty and grumble at the tipping system.
Without knowing, they suspected "the Guggenheimers" when in doubt they always suspected the Guggenheimers. They stood aside to let him pass, their cold eyes following his legs down the tunnel, waiting in the freezing atmosphere to avoid the appearance of indecent haste, though they burned to make a bee-line for the register.
Yet this stout fellow was intent on saving that table for the Guggenheimers of Chicago. It ended in Florence saying: "Why shouldn't we all eat out of the same trough? that's a nasty New York saying. But I'm sure we're all nice quiet people and there can be four seats at our table. It's round."
Dill mumbled as he swung his arms in the gesture of swimming. "Got to keep movin'!" "Wake up." Bruce shook him vigorously. The suspected representative of the "Guggenheimers" whined plaintively: "Itty tootsies awfy cold!" "Itty tootsies will be colder if you don't get 'em off this floor," Bruce said with a grin, as he dipped his fingers in the pitcher and flirted the ice water in his face.
And she sat down rather brilliantly at a vacant table, beside ours one that was reserved for the Guggenheimers. And she just sat absolutely deaf to the remonstrances of the head waiter with his face like a grey ram's. That poor chap was doing his steadfast duty too.
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