kitchen.
Gesticulating with the key, Sam Yudenow said, “My cafe. Like the color, eh? It’s blue. In show biz waste nothing. Abit paint ‘ere, a bit paint there—never let ‘em dry up. D’you roller? Miv a drop turpentine, the bottom o’ one tin add to the bottom another, an’ you’d be surprised the results! So long it’s natural, it matches anything. I forget the indigredents o’ this ‘ere color, but look what a lovely shade blue it turned out to be! I was going to call it the Blue Cafe—a smashing title—only my old friend Hacker, ‘e’s a breaker. D’you foller?”
“A broker?” I asked.
“I said a breaker,” said Sam Yudenow. “You ‘eard of a ship breaker? A ‘ouse breaker you ‘eard of? So my friend Hacker’s a general breaker. A breaker, not a broker. After a broker goes broke, then comes the breaker. My friend Hacker’s a shop breaker, a restaurant breaker, a theater breaker, a ship breaker—a breaker, you know? Say a business is sold up, say: my friend Hacker’s on the spot like a leopard miv a bid. Fixtures an’ fittings, bars an’ counters an’ cupboards, signs an’ shelves an’ linoleum an’ doorknobs— anything an’ everything. Boarding an’ beading, frames an’ doors an’ panels, sinks an’ mantelpieces an’ mirrors—whatever nobody wants my friend Hacker buys. Rags, bottles an’ bones. ‘You chunk it out, I pick it up’—that’s my friend Hacker’s motto; an’ you’d be surprised!
“As I was saying, I was going to call this ‘ere cafe the Blue Cafe only my friend ‘ad this ‘ere ‘and made Cafe Cosmopolitan fascia plus that there Vitellius sign thrown in. ‘Chunk me in a mincing machine,’I says, ‘an’ it’s a deal for thirty shillings.’ In the end it was thirty-five bob, plus the ostrinch egg.... Mivout a mincing machine in a cafe you’re a think o’ the past. Rissoles—on the steam alone o’ my rissoles they get fat rahnd Fowlers End. An’ I dare say you wonder why I got two different signs ‘anging outside my cafe? Go on, say it!”
I said, “I wonder why you have two different signs hanging outside your cafe, Mr. Yudenow. Well?”
He was delighted. “So you admit it got you asking questions, eh? It got you on the guess? You’d look twice at a place miv two signs, ain’t it? You pause. You stop. Before you know where you are, you come in miv a mysterious smile an’ say, ‘Uxcuse me but whereas you got two different signs?” An’ you go out miv a packet cigarettes or a rissole or a bar chocolate. Show biz... But you mustn’t keep me ‘ere chatting all day long. To the dressing rooms, for Christ’s sake!”
As he opened the door, a girl looked out of the first-floor window. I caught a glimpse of a broad oval face, downy and juicy as an apricot, and one burning black eye surmounted by an eyebrow like a kitten’s tail. Then she was gone.
“That’s Costas’ sister,” said Sam Yudenow. “She’s bad medicine. ‘Ave nothing to do miv ‘er. You know what these Greeks are, jealous, the uncivilized bastards. Only the other day, single’ anded, Costas practically lynched half a dozen blokes for whistling at ‘er. She’ll make eyes at you. She won’t mind your face—she never looks ‘igher than anybody’s fly. If Costas catches you so much as laying a finger on ‘er, God ‘elp you. So you better be careful. You never can tell. Some women like Victor McLaglen, some women like cripples. Not even you will be safe. Come on.”
“Even I?” I said, following him. “I like that!”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Sam Yudenow. “Personally I like your face. It’s just the face for the job.”
3
SINCE I am of a timid and retiring disposition, I must admit that I am not displeased with my face. It enables me to pick and choose my company. If I do not like some importunate stranger I have only to look at him steadily; then he falters and edges away. If, on the other hand, I like the looks of somebody, it is
Gesticulating with the key, Sam Yudenow said, “My cafe. Like the color, eh? It’s blue. In show biz waste nothing. Abit paint ‘ere, a bit paint there—never let ‘em dry up. D’you roller? Miv a drop turpentine, the bottom o’ one tin add to the bottom another, an’ you’d be surprised the results! So long it’s natural, it matches anything. I forget the indigredents o’ this ‘ere color, but look what a lovely shade blue it turned out to be! I was going to call it the Blue Cafe—a smashing title—only my old friend Hacker, ‘e’s a breaker. D’you foller?”
“A broker?” I asked.
“I said a breaker,” said Sam Yudenow. “You ‘eard of a ship breaker? A ‘ouse breaker you ‘eard of? So my friend Hacker’s a general breaker. A breaker, not a broker. After a broker goes broke, then comes the breaker. My friend Hacker’s a shop breaker, a restaurant breaker, a theater breaker, a ship breaker—a breaker, you know? Say a business is sold up, say: my friend Hacker’s on the spot like a leopard miv a bid. Fixtures an’ fittings, bars an’ counters an’ cupboards, signs an’ shelves an’ linoleum an’ doorknobs— anything an’ everything. Boarding an’ beading, frames an’ doors an’ panels, sinks an’ mantelpieces an’ mirrors—whatever nobody wants my friend Hacker buys. Rags, bottles an’ bones. ‘You chunk it out, I pick it up’—that’s my friend Hacker’s motto; an’ you’d be surprised!
“As I was saying, I was going to call this ‘ere cafe the Blue Cafe only my friend ‘ad this ‘ere ‘and made Cafe Cosmopolitan fascia plus that there Vitellius sign thrown in. ‘Chunk me in a mincing machine,’I says, ‘an’ it’s a deal for thirty shillings.’ In the end it was thirty-five bob, plus the ostrinch egg.... Mivout a mincing machine in a cafe you’re a think o’ the past. Rissoles—on the steam alone o’ my rissoles they get fat rahnd Fowlers End. An’ I dare say you wonder why I got two different signs ‘anging outside my cafe? Go on, say it!”
I said, “I wonder why you have two different signs hanging outside your cafe, Mr. Yudenow. Well?”
He was delighted. “So you admit it got you asking questions, eh? It got you on the guess? You’d look twice at a place miv two signs, ain’t it? You pause. You stop. Before you know where you are, you come in miv a mysterious smile an’ say, ‘Uxcuse me but whereas you got two different signs?” An’ you go out miv a packet cigarettes or a rissole or a bar chocolate. Show biz... But you mustn’t keep me ‘ere chatting all day long. To the dressing rooms, for Christ’s sake!”
As he opened the door, a girl looked out of the first-floor window. I caught a glimpse of a broad oval face, downy and juicy as an apricot, and one burning black eye surmounted by an eyebrow like a kitten’s tail. Then she was gone.
“That’s Costas’ sister,” said Sam Yudenow. “She’s bad medicine. ‘Ave nothing to do miv ‘er. You know what these Greeks are, jealous, the uncivilized bastards. Only the other day, single’ anded, Costas practically lynched half a dozen blokes for whistling at ‘er. She’ll make eyes at you. She won’t mind your face—she never looks ‘igher than anybody’s fly. If Costas catches you so much as laying a finger on ‘er, God ‘elp you. So you better be careful. You never can tell. Some women like Victor McLaglen, some women like cripples. Not even you will be safe. Come on.”
“Even I?” I said, following him. “I like that!”
“Don’t get me wrong,” said Sam Yudenow. “Personally I like your face. It’s just the face for the job.”
3
SINCE I am of a timid and retiring disposition, I must admit that I am not displeased with my face. It enables me to pick and choose my company. If I do not like some importunate stranger I have only to look at him steadily; then he falters and edges away. If, on the other hand, I like the looks of somebody, it is
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