Tavernake looked up and
recognized Professor Franklin. With his broad-brimmed hat in his
hand, the professor, in fluent phraseology and a strong American
accent, was making himself decidedly disagreeable.
"You had better send for your manager right away, young man," he
declared. "On Tuesday night he brought me here himself and I
engaged this table for the week. No, I tell you I won't have any
other! I guess my order was good enough. You send for Luigi
right here. You know who I am? Professor Franklin's my name,
from New York, and if I say I mean to have a thing, I expect to
get it."
For the first time he recognized Tavernake, and paused for a
moment in his speech.
"Have I got your table, Professor?" Tavernake asked, slowly.
"You have, sir," the professor answered. "I did not recognize
you when I came in or I would have addressed you personally. I
have particular reasons for occupying a front table here every
night this week."
The thoughts began to crowd in upon Tavernake's brain. He
hesitated.
"Why not sit down with me?" he suggested.
The professor acquiesced without a word. The head waiter, with a
sigh of relief, took his hat and overcoat and accepted his order.
Tavernake leaned across the table.
"Professor," he said, "why do you insist upon sitting up here?"
The professor moved his head slowly downwards.
"My young friend, I speak to you in confidence?"
"In confidence," Tavernake repeated.
"I come here secretly," the professor continued, "because it is
the only chance I have of seeing a very dear relative of mine.
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