The Potato Factory
“Ikey moved quickly up the steps to the doorman, who, as is the nature of his profession, had been alert to his arrival at the moment his coach had pulled up. He had tugged at the lapels of his overcoat and adjusted his gold-braided top hat, conscious of the well-polished carriage and the livery of its retainers, and was therefore hardly surprised at the conservative, well-dressed gentleman who stepped from it onto the sidewalk.
'Good afternoon, sir!' he had offered in a manner akin to the m...ilitary and which suggested both efficiency and respect, saluting Ikey.
Ikey grunted, though it was a well-modulated and upper-class grunt. 'Foreign transactions?' he asked, in a clipped and imperious voice.
'I shall call you an usher at once, sir.' The doorman opened the door, lifted his hand and crooked a finger to denote a requirement from someone within, whereupon he further opened it for Ikey to pass through.
It had all occurred just as Abraham had suggested and was quite unlike the reception Reuban Reuban had received.MoreLess
'Good afternoon, sir!' he had offered in a manner akin to the m...ilitary and which suggested both efficiency and respect, saluting Ikey.
Ikey grunted, though it was a well-modulated and upper-class grunt. 'Foreign transactions?' he asked, in a clipped and imperious voice.
'I shall call you an usher at once, sir.' The doorman opened the door, lifted his hand and crooked a finger to denote a requirement from someone within, whereupon he further opened it for Ikey to pass through.
It had all occurred just as Abraham had suggested and was quite unlike the reception Reuban Reuban had received.MoreLess
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