At some
time in his life the cook had worked for a travelling circus and he
talked continually of his adventures on the road, striving to make
himself a hero in the eyes of his audience.
McGregor read the book that lay before him on the counter and tried to
forget the squalid disorder of his surroundings. Again he read of the
great figures of history, the soldiers and statesmen who have been
leaders of men. When the cook asked him a question or made some remark
intended for his ears he looked up, nodded and read again. When a
disturbance started in the room he growled out a command and the
disturbance subsided. From time to time well dressed middle-aged men,
half gone in drink, came and leaned over the counter to whisper to
him. He made a motion with his hand to one of the women sitting at the
tables along the wall and idly playing with toothpicks. When she came
to him he pointed to the man and said, "He wants to buy you a dinner."
The women of the underworld sat at the tables and talked of McGregor,
each secretly wishing he might become her lover. They gossiped like
suburban wives, filling their talk with vague reference to things he
had said. They commented upon his clothes and his reading. When he
looked at them they smiled and stirred uneasily about like timid
children.
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