Tales From Gavagan's Bar Read Online Free PDF Page A

bottle."
     
                  Mr. Cohan came around the bar and set a glass in front of her, and exhibited the bottle, at which she peered after adjusting her pince-nez. "Six puttonos; that is good. You shall pour."
     
                  As Mr. Cohan extracted the cork with a pop, the Amazon turned to Mrs. Jonas. "Troubles with a man you may have," she said, "but anybody that says mine are not worse is a ignoramus."
     
                  "Sssh," said Mrs. Jonas. "You'll frighten Mr. Jeffers off women for life, and he's one of the few eligible bachelors around. I'm keeping him for my second string."
     
                  "Oh, I don't know—" began Mr. Jeffers. The large woman swung toward Mr. Cohan with the ponderousness of a drawbridge. "You shall tell her how much trouble I have with my man, my Putzi," she said, firmly.
     
                  Mr. Cohan's face took on a firmness equal to her own. "Now look here, Mrs. Vacarescu," he said, "this is a free country, and if you want to talk about your own troubles, I cannot prevent you. But I will not talk about such things in Gavagan's, by God, because in the first place it's bad for business; and in the second, Father McConaghy will be making me do penance. And I'm warning you that your man can come in here and drink his beer like anyone else, but dogs we will not have in Gavagan's."
     
                  Mrs. Vacarescu did not appear to be daunted. "I will pay for a bottle of Tokay for him also," she said, drinking heartily. "But it is most strongly important that he does not go out from here while it is still dark. And I know it is here he will come, like always on nights when the Sangerbund is not meeting."
     
                  Mr. Jeffers said: "I don't understand all this, but why shouldn't your husband go out of Gavagan's while it's dark? He can't very well stay all night, can he?"
     
                  Mrs. Vacarescu favored him with a glance of soul-searing scorn. "Because he is mine Putzi, and this time he is not to spoil my vacation, like always. By night he goes out of here, he is running around with some bitch—"
     
                  Mrs. Jonas gave a little gasp; Mr. Jeffers cleared his throat.
     
                  "—And next morning I got trouble with him again." Mrs. Vacarescu took another drink of Tokay and looked at her hearers. Mr. Cohan came round the end of the bar with the second bottle of Tokay and set it down beside her. "That will be four dollars and twenty cents," he said.
     
                  Mrs. Vacarescu snapped open her purse. "You will also give something to this so-beautiful lady," she said.
     
                  "I don't think—" began Mrs. Jonas, in a rather chilly voice.
     
                  "Ach, you are thinking I am not a lady," said Mrs. Vacarescu, "because of what I say, not so? But mine friend Mr. Cohan, he will tell you, it is true, and I am not making just bad words."
     
                  "We got a good class of trade in Gavagan's," said Mr. Cohan.
     
                  Mrs. Jonas said: "I don't believe I quite understand ."
     
                  Mrs. Vacarescu produced a handkerchief smelling powerfully of patchouli, with which she dabbed at one eye, then the other.
     
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                  It is mine Putzi [she said]. I will tell you so you understand. Never was such a man as Putzi when I knew him the first time in Budapest; strong and handsome and tall like a tree. We have picnics together on the island by Budapest on Sunday in summer, and we are eating radishes and drinking lager beer, and he is telling me stories and we are picking flowers. He would promise me everything, even a castle in Transylvania, where he comes from, and my mother says he is a good young man and I should marry him. But he will not be married by a priest; he has to have the