By one o'clock the bar was jammed; amidst the consequent mixture of voices the staff of waiters functioned, pinning down their clients to the facts of drink and money.
"That makes two stingers... and one more... two martinis and one... nothing for you, Mr. Quarterly... that makes three rounds. That makes seventy-five francs,Mr. Quarterly. Mr. Schaeffer said he had this--you had the last... I can only do what you say... thanks veramuch."
In the confusion Abe had lost his seat; now he stood gently swaying and talking to some of the people with whom he had involved himself. A terrier ran a leash around his legs but Abe managed to extricate himself without upsetting and became the recipient of profuse apologies. Presently he was invited to lunch,but declined. It was almost Briglith, he explained, and there was something he had to do at Briglith. A little later, with the exquisite manners of the alcoholic that are like the manners of a prisoner or a family servant,he said good-by to an acquaintance, and turning around discovered that the bar's great moment was over as precipitately as it had begun.