"Well, step on it! You've got two dames sitting here for ages." He didn't wait for Otto's answer but left at once.

Otto was all ready now. In a single action he seemed to propel himself to the kitchen and, while on the run, managed to straighten his hair with his hands.

"Easy, now! What do you think we've got here-some kind of a race track?" the chef shouted. Otto was already out of the kitchen. "Damn nuisance," the chef muttered, but not in anger. His thoughts were on Otto's slim-fitting trousers, the almost sculptured effect they created, and the firm but easy swing of the youth's thighs as he passed by on his way to the dining room.

The dining room itself was so dim one could scarcely identify who was present. Every few minutes, different tables in turn would acquire a soft brightness from one of the candle lamps which Otto had lighted.

In a far corner of the room, two young women between twenty two and twenty five were sitting close together at one of the tables. If it hadn't been for their strangely white faces, no one would have noticed them since both were wearing dark dresses and each had dark, blue-black hair. They were very quiet and both had smiles on their faces.

Every few minutes they would pick up their drinks and sip them smoothly and slowly. Once, one of them offered the other a cigarette, lighted it, and then held the lighted match in her hand. They both watched the dwindling flame with pleasure. Then each seemed to fix her gaze on the soft white top of the other's breast, and the gaze was long and dear. They realized the match flame was nearing its end from its dim light when it shadowed the softly sloping portion between the two white breasts. Then one blew out the dying, flickering flame, and looked at the burned match, while the other looked at her girlish partner like a goddess of beauty in the twilight.

Otto looked at them with vague surprise. He walked towards their table and asked if they wished to see the menu.

"Not yet, thank you-but we would like another round of drinks," one of the girls said pleasantly.

"What were your drinks, Miss?"

"Aren't you the one who served our drinks a few minutes ago?" one of the them asked.

"No, Miss, that was the bartender."

"Well, I'm sorry! Bring us a baccardi cocktail and a daiquiri," one of the girls requested with a smile of sweetness.

"Yes, Miss," Otto said as he returned the sweet smile and faded from their view. He went over to the bar and ordered the drinks from Johnny. Johnny was wiping the counter; the bar was empty of customers. "There's something about those women-the two of them that I don't like," Johnny said.

"What don't you like about them?"

"I don't know. They just don't look to me like decent women.”

The time slipped shortly past seven o'clock. Johnny had two more parties: a group of four people-two middle aged men with their girl friends. The men were fat and needlessly loud. Both were smoking big and pungent cigars. The girls seemed somewhat uncomfortable but their speech contained a measure of respect for the men whose employees they obviously were.

A bit later, the maitre d' walked in. It took him a few moments to adjust his eyes to the dim light of the room. He went directly to the captain's desk.

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