ten minutes to three
`` You did n't told me if you seen Max Maikafer to-day ? '' he said , as he pocketed a handful of tooth-picks . `` I did n't got to told you whether I did _ oder _ I did n't , '' Trinkmann replied , `` but one thing I _ will _ tell you , Mr. Feinsilver -- I am running here a restaurant , not a lumber yard . '' * * * * * At ten minutes to three Trinkmann stood behind the cashier 's desk , so thoroughly enmeshed in the intricacies of his wife 's bookkeeping that not even a knowledge of conic sections would have disentangled him . For the twentieth time he added a column of figures and , having arrived at the twentieth different result , he heaved a deep sigh and looked out of the window for inspiration . What little composure remained to him , however , fled at the sight of Max Maikafer , who stood talking to a stout person arrayed in a fur overcoat . As they conversed , Max 's gaze constantly reverted to the restaurant door , as though he awaited the appearance of somebody from that quarter , while the man in the fur overcoat made gestures toward a vacant store across the street .