“Yes,” Babbing said, “that ’s the one. Are these fresh?”
“I opened it myself yesterday.” The box was still full.
“I don’t much like them fresh.”
The clerk tried to look his indifference. “We don’t keep—”
“You can keep four of those,” Babbing cut in cheerfully and passed on. Barney followed him. And Barney could feel the clerk’s eyes witheringly on his back.
This was good fun, but Barney did not see the drift of it. When they issued on 42nd Street again and started to cross towards the Beaumont, he began to understand.
They mounted the Beaumont’s marble steps together and approached the cigar counter. The clerk, here, was an older man who was perhaps accustomed to serving millionaires in shabbiness. Babbing found the box in the showcase and pointed to it. The clerk whisked it out deftly. Babbing took two. “Do you sell many of these?”
