Wilhelm Steindal, convinced that his companion had suddenly gone mad, showed that he was endowed with some of the grit essential to a scoundrel of any real importance. He picked up a carafe of iced water, and dashed the contents into the Armenian’s gray-green face, being prepared to follow up the attack with the bottle itself, if needful. He acted better than he knew. The physical shock of the liquid dissipated the magnetic influence which Karl had unwittingly exercised on the man he had rescued from the Bay of Bengal. Forthwith, Constantine recovered his self-possession. He mopped his dripping face with a serviette, apologized to the astounded manager and those diners seated near, and went out, followed by Steindal. The latter was too flustered to garnish his speech with Spanish phrases, a habit he affected in order to disguise the Polish-Jew element in his composition. Indeed, his language now savored more of the Bowery than of Spanish America. “Wot’n hell did you go’n kick up that sort of circus for?” he growled, his shining face exuding oil in his excitement. “I couldn’t help it. I was overpowered by a--by a memory.” “It was a tomfool performance, anyhow. Seems to me it’ll be all round N’York that Steindal was out at a skate wid some flea-sucked blighter who had brought into the country a new variety of jim-jams!” “Look here, Steindal, I may be afraid of some things, but I have no fear of you. If you talk to me in that fashion, I’ll smash your face.” Constantine looked so murderous that the stout man retreated a pace, and a stalwart hall-porter moved ponderously forward. The Jew felt he had gone too far. The Armenian was too rich a prize to be flung aside because he had created a scene in a restaurant and spoiled a good dinner. So he cried, with ready complacency: “Don’t get mad with me, dere’s a good fella. I only wanted to shake up your wits a bit. Come on! Here’s your hat. Let’s walk round to your hotel. You’ll soon be all right. _Carramba!_ You scared me worse’n you scared yourself.” Up-town in New York you can turn out of a brilliantly lighted and crowded avenue into a side-street of utmost quietude. The two passed into one of these convenient thoroughfares, and were instantly removed from the glare of the restaurant. Steindal halted to light a cigarette. He eyed the Armenian covertly. “Tell you what,” he chuckled, “thinkin’ of that girl has put you off your base.” “No, you are mistaken. Something altogether different upset me. I can’t explain matters to you here. Wait till I’ve had a highball in my room. Then I’ll give you the lines of it. You need have no fear of a further outbreak. I’m all right now. And you’ve got strong nerves, eh?” “I need ’em my boy, in my business. I’m a peach on nerves. In the profession they call me ‘The electrocutioner,’ because I can stiffen a contract in five seconds. _Por Dios!_ Nerves!”