“Oh, no, sir. I don’t smoke, sir.”
“That is all right,” said Mr. Wheeler. He looked out of the window again, drank the coffee, and lit a cigarette.
“Fräulein,” he called. The waitress came over.
“What would you like, sir?”
“You,” he said.
“You must not joke me like that.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Then you must not say it.”
“I haven’t time to argue,” Mr. Wheeler said. “The train comes in forty minutes. If you’ll go upstairs with me I’ll give you a hundred francs.”
“You should not say such things, sir. I will ask the porter to speak with you.”
“I don’t want a porter,” Mr. Wheeler said. “Nor a policeman nor one of those boys that sell cigarettes. I want you.”
“If you talk like that you must go out. You cannot stay here and talk like that.”
“Why don’t you go away, then? If you go away I can’t talk to you.”
The waitress went away. Mr. Wheeler watched to see if she spoke to the porters. She did not.
“Mademoiselle!” he called. The waitress came over. “Bring me a bottle of Sion, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Wheeler watched her go out, then come in with the wine and bring it to his table. He looked toward the clock.
“I’ll give you two hundred francs,” he said.
“Please do not say such things.”
“Two hundred francs is a great deal of money.”
“You will not say such things!” the waitress said. She was losing her English. Mr. Wheeler looked at her interestedly.
“Two hundred francs.”
“You are hateful.”
“Why don’t you go away then? I can’t talk to you if you’re not here.”
