Behind _les nouveaux_ staggered four
_paillasses_ motivated mysteriously by two pair of small legs belonging
(as it proved) to Garibaldi and the little Machine-Fixer; who, coincident
with the tumbling of the mattresses to the floor, perspiringly emerged to
sight.
The first thing the shifty-eyed Hollander did was to exclaim
_Gottverdummer_. The first thing the whiskery Belgian did was to grab his
_paillasse_ and stand guard over it. The first thing the youth in the
leggings did was to stare helplessly about him, murmuring something
whimperingly in Polish. The first thing the fourth _nouveau_ did was pay
attention to anybody; lighting a cigarette in an unhurried manner as he
did so, and puffing silently and slowly as if in all the universe nothing
whatever save the taste of tobacco existed.
A bevy of Hollanders were by this time about the triangle, asking him all
at once Was he from so and so, What was in his box. How long had he been
in coming, etc. Half a dozen stooped over the box itself, and at least
three pairs of hands were on the point of trying the lock--when suddenly
with incredible agility the unperturbed smoker shot a yard forward,
landing quietly beside them; and exclaimed rapidly and briefly through
his nose.
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