They moved off from me and elbowed to the counter, there with mutually scornful laughter, in which lurked nevertheless the respect of professionals for one another, to back Gipsy II and May Dream.
At that moment someone keeled over.
It was one of the two thin fellows who a while ago had been standing by the tables.
He slithered along the wall and crashed hard on the floor.
The two postmen "picked him up and put him on a chair.
His face was greyish white.
His mouth was open.
"Good Lord!" said a prostitute, a full, dark woman with smooth hair and a low forehead. "Fetch a glass of water, somebody."
It struck me how few people took any notice of the fainting man.
The majority just gave a fleeting glance and then turned again to the betting.
"Happens all the time," said Gustav. "Unemployed.
Bet away every bean.
Always at long odds, hundred to one."
The coachman came out of the cigar department with a glass of water.
The dark prositute dipped her handkerchief into it and wiped it over the man's forehead and temples.
He sighed and suddenly opened his eyes.
There was something uncanny about the way they were suddenly there again, without a sound, in the completely extinguished face—as if some other, unknown being peered, curious and inquisitive, through the slits of a rigid, grey-white mask.
The girl took the glass of water and gave the man a drink.
As she did so she held him like a child in her arm.
Then she reached a sandwich from the table of the unconcerned eater with the bristling hairs.
"Come now, eat—but slowly, slowly. Don't bite my finger off—there, and now drink again."
The man at the table followed the sandwich with his eyes, but he said nothing.
The other slowly regained colour.
He ate a while longer, then staggered up.
The girl supported him and pushed him toward the door.
Then, with a swift glance behind, she undipped her handbag.
"There— now hop it, and eat instead of betting."
One of the hangers-on who had kept his back turned all this time, turned around.
He had the face of a bird of prey, with stand-off ears, and wore patent leather shoes and a sports cap.
"What did you give him?" he asked.
"Groschen."
He dug her in the chest with his elbow.
"It was more than that.
Ask me next time."
"Go easy, Ede," said another.
The prostitute took out her powder box and rouged her lips.
"It's true though," said Ede.
The prostitute did not answer.
The telephone rang.
I looked at Ede and could not make him out.
"That's what is called a swine," I heard Gustav suddenly burst out. "That's more than a swine, ladies and gentlemen, that's a great, fat mother sow with twenty porkers." He clapped me on the shoulder. "A hundred and eighty marks you've rattled, my boy.
Your camel with the funny name has done it."
"What, really?" I asked.
The chap with the chewed cigar and the brilliantly coloured shirt nodded sourly and took my ticket.
"Who gave you the tip?"
"I did," said Bieling with a dreadfully cringing, expectant smile, coming forward with a bow. "I did, if I may venture—my connections—"
"Ach, man—" The fellow did not so much as look at him and paid me the money.
For a moment there was complete silence in the room.
Everybody watched.
Even the imperturbable eater lifted his head.