The Competitive Nephew Part 26

"But I mean I seen you at the I.O.M.A.'s racket last night," Milton continued, "and you seemed to be having a pretty good time."

Miss Levy suppressed a yawn.

"Don't mention it," she said; "I feel like a rag to-day. I didn't get home till four o'clock."

This was something like friendly discourse, and Milton slackened up on his work.

"Who was that feller with the curly hair you was dancing with?" he began, when Miss Levy looked up and noted the cessation of his labour.

"Never you mind who he was, Milton," she answered. "You finish licking those envelopes."

At this juncture they heard the sample-room door open and a heavy footstep sound on its carpeted floor.

"Wait here," she hissed. "It's a customer, and everybody's out to lunch. What's your other name, Milton?"

"Milton Zwiebel," he replied.

Hastily she adjusted her pompadour and tripped off to the sample-room.

"Ain't none of them actors around here to-day, Miss Levy?" a ba.s.s voice asked.

"They're all out to lunch," Miss Levy explained.

"Where's Pasinsky?" the visitor asked.

"Mr. Pasinsky's in Boston this week, Mr. Feigenbaum," she replied.

Pasinsky was Rothman's senior drummer and was generally acknowledged a crackerjack.

"That's too bad," Feigenbaum replied. "Ain't Rothman coming back soon?"

"Not for half an hour," Miss Levy answered.

"Well, I ain't got so long to wait," Feigenbaum commented.

Suddenly Miss Levy brightened up.

"Mr. Zwiebel is in," she announced. "Maybe he would do."

"Mr. Zwiebel?" Feigenbaum repeated. "All right, _Zwiebel oder k.n.o.blauch_, it don't make no difference to me. I want to look at some of them misses' reefers."

"Mis-ter Zwiebel," Miss Levy called, and in response Milton entered.

"This is one of our customers, Mr. Zwiebel," she said, "by the name Mr.

Henry Feigenbaum."

"How are you, Mr. Feigenbaum?" Milton said with perfect self-possession. "What can I do for you to-day?"

He dug out one of Charles Zwiebel's Havana seconds from his waistcoat-pocket and handed it to Feigenbaum.

"It looks pretty rough," he said, "but you'll find it all O.K., clear Havana, wrapper, binder, and filler."

"Much obliged," Feigenbaum said. "I want to look at some of them misses' reefers."

Miss Levy winked one eye with electrical rapidity and gracefully placed her hand on the proper rack, whereat Milton strode over and seized the garment.

"Try it on me," Miss Levy said, extending her arm. "It's just my size."

"You couldn't wear no misses' reefer," Feigenbaum said ungallantly.

"You ain't so young no longer."

Milton scowled, but Miss Levy pa.s.sed it off pleasantly.

"You wouldn't want to pay for all the garments in misses' sizes that fit me, Mr. Feigenbaum," she retorted as she struggled into the coat.

"My sister bought one just like this up on Thirty-fourth Street, and maybe they didn't charge her anything, neither. Why, Mr. Feigenbaum, she had to pay twenty-two fifty for the precisely same garment, and I could have got her the same thing here for ten dollars, only Mr.

Rothman wouldn't positively sell any goods at retail even to his work-people."

Mr. Feigenbaum examined the garment closely while Miss Levy postured in front of him.

"And maybe you think the design and workmans.h.i.+p was better?" she went on. "Why, Mr. Feigenbaum, my sister had to sew on every one of the b.u.t.tons, and the side seams came unripped the first week she wore it.

You could take this garment and stretch it as hard as you could with both hands, and nothing would tear."

Milton nodded approvingly, and then Miss Levy peeled off the coat and handed it to Feigenbaum.

"Look at it yourself," she said; "it's a first-cla.s.s garment."

She nudged Milton.

"Dummy!" she hissed, "say something."

"Sammet Brothers sell the same garment for twelve-fifty," Milton hazarded. Sammet Brothers were customers of the elder Zwiebel, and Milton happened to remember the name.

Feigenbaum looked up and frowned.

"With me I ain't stuck on a feller what knocks a compet.i.tor's line," he said. "Sell your goods on their merits, young feller, and your customers would never kick. This garment looks pretty good to me already, Mr. Zwiebel, so if you got an order blank I'll give it you the particulars."

Miss Levy hastened to the office and returned with some order blanks which she handed to Milton. Then she retreated behind a cloak-rack while Milton wielded a lead pencil in a businesslike fas.h.i.+on. There she listened to Feigenbaum's dictation and unseen by him, she carefully wrote down his order.

At length Feigenbaum concluded and Miss Levy hastened from behind the rack.

"Oh, Mr. Feigenbaum," she said in order to create a diversion, "wasn't it you that wrote us about a tourist coat getting into your last s.h.i.+pment by mistake?"

"Me?" Feigenbaum cried. "Why, I ain't said no such thing."

"I thought you were the one," she replied as she slipped her transcription of Mr. Feigenbaum's order into Milton's hand. "It must have been somebody else."

"I guess it must," Feigenbaum commented. "Let me see what you got there, young feller."