Presently he had a fried steak served him. It was heavily laden with
onions.
As he fell to cutting and eating it hungrily the odor of the fried
onions and the sound of his lips sickened me. The steak put him in
good humor. He became sociable and turned out to be a gay,
though a venomous, fellow. His small talk raised my spirits, too.
Nor did anybody in the caf? seem to know who I was or to take
any notice of me. I took a humorous view of the situation and had
the gipsy-faced man tell me who was who
"Shall I begin with this great man?" he asked, facetiously, pointing
his fork at himself. "I am the world-renowned translator and
feuilleton writer whose writings have greatly increased the
circulation of the Yiddish Tribune."
Under the guise of playful vanity he gave vent to a torrent of
self-appreciation. He then named all the "other notables
present"--a poet, a cartoonist, a budding playwright, a
distinguished Russian revolutionist, an editor, and another
newspaper man--maligning and deriding some of them and
grudgingly praising the others.
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