“Yes, sir,” he said. “Quite a number.”
“How many?”
“Well, I couldn’t say, exactly. I’ve sold six this morning.”
Babbing was slow about getting the cigars into his waistcoat pocket; and he was slow about getting his money out. “Six, eh? Counting mine?”
“Yes. Another gentleman took four.”
“I ’ll bet that was Charlie,” Babbing commented to Barney. “Clean-shaven man with blue eyes?” he asked the clerk. “Heavy set?”
“I think you ’re right,” the clerk replied, busying himself with his cash register. “I did n’t notice his eyes, but I think you ’re right. . . . Thank you. Nice day?”
Babbing grunted, non-committally, and went to the desk. He gave Barney his umbrella to hold, while he put on his glasses to consult the register. He turned to the arrivals of the previous night. Among the names of visitors from Buffalo and Albany, there was
