I laid my goods down on the
counter, and politely requested the temporary loan of 3 pounds. "Three
pounds for this damned lot of old rubbish," exclaimed the indignant Jew.
"Do you take this for a public charity? It's not worth fifteen shillings
to me, the whole lot!" and he turned the things over with his greasy
hands, as though they were objectionable offal. We finally compromised for
thirty-two shillings, with which sum in my pocket I triumphantly sallied
forth.
My next move was to disinter Kosinski, whom I felt pretty certain of
finding at a certain coffee-stall where, at that advanced hour, he was in
the habit of making his one and only diurnal, or rather nocturnal repast.
This coffee-stall was situated at the corner of Tottenham Court Road and a
side street, and there, sure enough, stood Kosinski, munching sardines on
toast, and buns, and drinking coffee, surrounded by a motley group of
cabmen and loose women. These had evidently grown used to his regular
attendance and treated him with marked respect and friendliness, many of
the unfortunate women having often had to thank him for a meal and the
price of a night's lodging when luck had failed them in other directions.
Kosinski was somewhat taken aback at my sudden appearance. "You, Isabel!"
he exclaimed in some confusion, "what can have brought you here? But may I
offer you a little supper? These buns are excellent!"
Tired and worried as I was, I could not help smiling at the awkward
manner in which he made this offer.
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