The Competitive Nephew

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MAKING OVER MILTON

  "Take it from me, Mr. Zwiebel, that boy would never amount to nothing,"said Levy Rothman, as they sat in the rear room of Wasserbauer's Cafeand restaurant.

  "You are mistaken, Mr. Rothman," Charles Zwiebel replied; "the boy isonly a little wild, y'understand, and if I could get him to settle downand learn a business, Mr. Rothman, he would settle down. After all, Mr.Rothman, he is only a boy, y'understand."

  "At twenty-one," Rothman replied, "a boy ain't a boy no longer, Mr.Zwiebel. Either he is a man or he is a loafer, y'understand."

  "The boy ain't no loafer, Mr. Rothman. He's got a good heart, Mr.Rothman, and he is honest like the day. That boy wouldn't dream oftaking no money from the cash drawer, Mr. Rothman, without he wouldtell me all about it afterward. That's the kind of boy he is, Mr.Rothman; and certainly Mrs. Zwiebel she thinks a whole lot of him, too.Not that he doesn't think a whole lot of her, Mr. Rothman. Yes, Mr.Rothman, that boy thinks a whole lot of his mother. If he would stayout all night he always says to her the next morning, 'Mommer, youshouldn't worry about me, because I could always take care of myself,'and I bet yer that boy could take care of himself, too, Mr. Rothman. Iseen that boy sit in a game with such sharks like Moe Rabiner and MarksPasinsky, and them fellers couldn't do nothing with him. Yes, Mr.Rothman, that boy is a natural-born pinochle player."

  "Might you think that a recommendation, maybe?" Rothman exclaimed.

  "Well, Mr. Rothman, my brother Sol, _selig_, used to say, 'Show me agood pinochle player and I will show you a natural-born salesman.'"

  "Yes, Mr. Zwiebel," Rothman retorted, "and show me a salesman what is agood pinochle player, Mr. Zwiebel, and I will also show you a fellerwhat fools away his time and sells the firm's samples. No, Mr. Zwiebel,if I would take your boy in my place I certainly wouldn't take himbecause he is a good pinochle player. Ain't he got no otherrecommendation, Mr. Zwiebel?"

  "Well, certainly, everybody what that boy worked for, Mr. Rothman,couldn't say enough about him," Mr. Zwiebel said enigmatically; "but,anyhow, what's the use talking, Mr. Rothman? I got this proposition tomake you: Take the boy into your place and learn him the business, andall you would got to pay him is five dollars a week. Myself I will putten to it, and you could pay him fifteen, and the boy wouldn't got toknow nothing about it."

  "I wouldn't give him five dollars a week or five cents, neither," Mr.Rothman answered in tones of finality. "Because I don't need nobody inmy place at present, and if I would need somebody I would hire it afeller what knows the business. I got lots of experience with newbeginners already, Mr. Zwiebel, and I always lost money by 'em."

  Mr. Zwiebel received this ultimatum in so crest-fallen a manner thatRothman's flinty heart was touched.

  "Lookyhere, Mr. Zwiebel," he said, "I got a boy, too, only, _Gott seidank_, the young feller ain't a loafer, y'understand. He's now in histhird year in law school, and I never had a bit of trouble with thatboy. Because I don't want you to feel bad, Mr. Zwiebel, but if I dosay it myself, that boy is a good boy, y'understand; none better, Mr.Zwiebel, I don't care where you would go. That boy comes home,y'understand, every night, y'understand, except the night when he goesto lodge meeting, and he takes down his books and learns it till hismommer's got to say to him: 'Ferdy, _lieben_, you would ruin youreyes.' That boy is only twenty-three, Mr. Zwiebel, and already he isway up in the I.O.M.A. They give that young feller full charge fortheir annual ball two years already, and----"

  "Excuse me, Mr. Rothman," Zwiebel broke in. "I got to get back to mybusiness, and so, therefore, I want to make you a final proposition.Take the boy into your place and I would give you each week fifteendollars you should pay him for his wages."

  "I wouldn't positively do nothing of the kind," Rothman cried.

  "And"--Mr. Zwiebel said as though he were merely extending his remarkinstead of voicing an idea that had just occurred to him--"and I willinvest in your business two thousand dollars which you would only payme savings-bank interest."

  Rothman's eyes glittered, but he only laughed by way of reply.

  "Ain't that a fair proposition?"

  "You must think I need money bad in my business," Rothman commented.

  "Every man in the cloak and suit business needs money this year,Rothman," said Zwiebel, who was in the cigar business. His specialtywas the manufacture of cigars for the entertainment of cloak and suitcustomers, and his own financial affairs accurately reflectedconditions in the woman's outer garment trade. For instance, when cloakbuyers are anxious to buy goods the frugal manufacturer withholds hishospitality; but if the demand for cloaks is slack, then M to Zcustomers are occasionally regaled with cigars from the "gilt-edged"box. This season Zwiebel was selling more and better cigars than formany years past, and he made his deductions accordingly.

  "Yes, Mr. Rothman," Zwiebel concluded, "there's plenty cloak and suitmen would be glad to get a young feller like my Milton on such termswhat I offer it."

  "Well, why don't you talk to 'em about it?" Rothman replied. "I amsatisfied."

  But there was something about Rothman's face that to Zwiebel auguredwell for his son's regeneration. Like the advertised loft buildings inthe cloak and suit district, Mr. Rothman's face was of steelconstruction throughout, and Zwiebel felt so sure of Rothman's abilityto cope with Milton's shortcomings that he raised the bid to threethousand dollars. Firmness, however, is a quality that makes forsuccess in every phase of business, particularly in bargaining; andwhen the deal was closed Rothman had hired Milton Zwiebel for nothing aweek. Mr. Zwiebel, on his part, had agreed to invest five thousanddollars in Rothman's business, the same to bear interest at 3 per cent.per annum. He had also bound himself to repay Rothman the weekly salaryof fifteen dollars which Milton was to receive, and when they partedthey shook hands warmly on the transaction.

  "Well, Mr. Rothman," Zwiebel concluded, "I hope you will see to it theboy behaves himself."

  Rothman's mouth described a downward arc.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Zwiebel," he said; "leave it to me."

  * * * * *

  Milton Zwiebel had not found his _metier_. He had tried almosteverything in the Business Directory from Architectural Iron Work toYarns, Domestic and Imported, and had ascertained all of them to belacking in the one quality he craved--excitement.

  "That boy is looking for trouble all the time, mommer," Charles Zwiebelsaid to his wife on the night after his conversation with Rothman, "andI guess he will get so much as he wants by Rothman. Such a face I neverseen it before, like Haman. If Milton should get fresh with him,mommer, he would get it a _Schlag_, I bet yer."

  "Ain't you ashamed to talk that way?" Mrs. Zwiebel protested.

  "It'll do the boy good, mommer," Mr. Zwiebel replied. "That boy is aregular loafer. It's eleven o'clock already and he ain't home yet. Whatthat lowlife does when he stays out till all hours of the night I don'tknow. One thing is sure, he ain't doing no good. I hate to think wherethat boy will end up, mommer."

  He shook his head and heavily ascended the stairs to bed, while Mrs.Zwiebel settled herself down with the evening paper to await Milton'sreturn.

  She had a weary vigil ahead of her, for Milton had at last foundserious employment. Only that evening he had been engaged by ProfessorFelix Lusthaus as a double-bass player in Lusthaus's grand orchestra offorty pieces. This organization had been hired to render the dancemusic for the fifteenth annual ball of Harmony Lodge, 142, I.O.M.A.,and the chairman of the entertainment committee had been influenced inhis selection by the preponderating number of the orchestra's membersover other competing bands.

  Now, to the inexperienced ear twenty-five players will emit nearly asmuch noise as forty, and in view of this circumstance ProfessorLusthaus was accustomed to hire twenty-five bona-fide members of themusical union, while the remaining fifteen pieces were what aretechnically known as sleepers. That is to say, Professor Lusthausprovided them with instruments and they were directed to go throug
h themotions without making any sound.

  Milton, for instance, was instructed how to manipulate the fingerboardof his ponderous instrument, but he was enjoined to draw his bow acrossthe metal base of the music-stand and to avoid the strings upon perilof his job. During the opening two-step Milton's behaviour wasexemplary. He watched the antics of the other _contra basso_ andduplicated them so faithfully as to call for a commendatory nod fromthe Professor at the conclusion of the number.

  His undoing began with the second dance, which was a waltz. As _contrabasso_ performer he stood with his fellow-artist at the rear of theplatform facing the dancing floor, and no sooner had ProfessorLusthaus's baton directed the first few measures than Milton'simitation grew spiritless. He had espied a little girl in white witheyes that flashed her enjoyment of the dreamy rhythm. Her cheeks glowedand her lips were parted, while her tiny gloved hand rested like aflower on the shoulder of her partner. They waltzed half-time, as thevernacular has it, and to Milton it seemed like the apotheosis of thedance. He gazed wide-eyed at the fascinating scene and was only broughtto himself when the drummer poked him in the ribs with the butt end ofthe drumstick. For the remainder of the waltz he performed discreetlyon the music-stand and his fingers chased themselves up and down thestrings with lifelike rapidity.

  "Hey, youse," Professor Lusthaus hissed after he had laid down hisbaton, "what yer trying to do? Queer the whole thing? Hey?"

  "I thought I--now--seen a friend of mine," Milton said lamely.

  "Oh, yer did, did yer?" Professor Lusthaus retorted. "Well, when youplay with this here orchestra you want to remember you ain't got afriend in the world, see?"

  Milton nodded.

  "And, furthermore," the Professor concluded, "make some more breakslike that and see what'll happen you."

  Waltzes and two-steps succeeded each other with monotonous regularityuntil the grand march for supper was announced. For three years FerdyRothman had been chairman of the entertainment and floor committee ofHarmony Lodge I.O.M.A.'s annual ball, and he was a virtuoso in theintricate art of arranging a grand march to supper. His aids were sixin number, and as Ferdy marched up the ballroom floor they werestanding with their backs to the music platform ten paces apart. WhenFerdy arrived at the foot of the platform he faced about and split theline of marching couples. The ladies wheeled sharply to the right andthe gentlemen to the left, and thereafter began a series of evolutionswhich, in the mere witnessing, would have given a blacksnake lumbago.

  Again Milton became entranced and his fingers remained motionless onthe strings, while, instead of sawing away on the music-stand, hisright arm hung by his side. Once more the drummer missed a beat andstruck him in the ribs, and Milton, looking up, caught sight of theglaring, demoniacal Lusthaus.

  The composition was one of Professor Lusthaus's own and had beenespecially devised for grand marches to supper. In rhythm and melody itwas exceedingly conventional, not to say reminiscent, and when Miltonseized his bow with the energy of despair and drew it sharply acrossthe strings of the _contra basso_ there was introduced a melodic andharmonic element so totally at variance with the character of thecomposition as to outrage the ears of even Ferdy Rothman. For one fatalmoment he turned his head, as did his six aids, and at once the grandmarch to supper became a hopeless tangle. Simultaneously Milton sawthat in five minutes he would be propelled violently to the street atthe head of a flying wedge, and he sawed away with a grim smile on hisface. Groans like the ultimate sighs of a dying elephant came fromunderneath his bow, while occasionally he surprised himself with aweird harmonic. At length Professor Lusthaus could stand it no longer.He threw his baton at Milton and followed it up with his violin case,at which Milton deemed it time to retreat. He grabbed his hat andovercoat and dashed wildly through the ranks of the thirty-nineperformers toward the front of the platform. Thence he leaped to theballroom floor, and two minutes later he was safely on the sidewalkwith nothing to hinder his exit save a glancing kick from FerdyRothman.

  It was precisely eleven o'clock, the very shank of the evening, andMilton fairly shuddered at the idea of going home, but what was he todo? His credit at all of the pool parlours had been strained to theutmost and he was absolutely penniless. For two minutes he surveyed theempty street and, with a stretch and a yawn, he started off home.

  Ten minutes later Mrs. Zwiebel recognized with a leaping heart hisfootsteps on the areaway. She ran to the door and opened it.

  "Loafer!" she cried. "Where was you?"

  "Aw, what's the matter now?" Milton asked as he kissed herperfunctorily. "It's only just eleven o'clock."

  "Sure, I know," Mrs. Zwiebel said. "What you come home so early for?"

  Again Milton yawned and stretched.

  "I was to a racket what the I.O.M.A.'s run off," he said.

  He rubbed the dust from his trouser leg where Ferdy Rothman's kick hadsoiled it.

  "Things was getting pretty slow," he concluded, "so I put on my hat andcome home."

  * * * * *

  Breakfast at the Zwiebels' was a solemn feast. Mr. Zwiebel usuallydrank his coffee in silence, or in as much silence as was compatiblewith an operation which, with Mr. Zwiebel, involved screening thecoffee through his moustache. It emerged all dripping from the coffee,and Mr. Zwiebel was accustomed to cleansing it with his lower lip andpolishing it off with his table napkin. Eggs and toast followed, and,unless Mrs. Zwiebel was especially vigilant, her husband went downtownwith fragments of the yolks clinging to his eyebrows, for Mr. Zwiebelwas a hearty eater and no great stickler for table manners.

  To Milton, whose table manners were both easy and correct, theprimitive methods of his father were irritating.

  "Get a sponge!" he exclaimed on the morning after his orchestralexperience, as Mr. Zwiebel absorbed his coffee in long, gurglinginhalations.

  "Yes, Milton," Mr. Zwiebel commented, replacing his cup in the saucer,"maybe I ain't such a fine gentleman what you are, but I ain't noloafer, neither, y'understand. When I was your age I didn't sit downand eat my breakfast at nine o'clock. I didn't have it so easy."

  "Aw, what yer kicking about?" Milton replied. "You don't let me donothing down at the store, anyway. All I got to do is sit around. Whydon't you send me out on the road and give me a show?"

  "A show I would give you," Zwiebel cried. "You mean a picnic, not ashow. No, Milton, I got some pretty good customers already, but Iwouldn't take no such liberties with 'em as sending out a lowlife likeyou to sell 'em goods."

  "All right," Milton said, and relapsed into a sulky silence.

  "Lookyhere, Milton," Zwiebel commenced. "If I thought you was reallywilling to work, y'understand, I would get you a good job. But with afeller what's all the time fooling away his time, what's the use?"

  "Maybe the boy would behave himself this time, popper," Mrs. Zwiebelinterceded. "Maybe he would attend to business this time, popper. Ain'tit?"

  "Business!" Mr. Zwiebel exclaimed. "Business is something what the boyain't got in him at all. Honest, mommer, I got to sit down sometimesand ask myself what did I done that I should have such a boy. Hewouldn't work; he wouldn't do nothing. Just a common, low-life bum,what you see hanging around street corners. If I was a young fellerlike that, Milton, I would be ashamed to show myself."

  "Aw, cut it out!" Milton replied.

  "Yes, mommer, if I would get that boy a good job, y'understand," Mr.Zwiebel went on, "he would turn right around and do something,y'understand, what would make me like I could never show myself againin the place where he worked."

  "Aw, what are you beefing about now?" Milton broke in. "You never gotme a decent job yet. All the places where I worked was piker concerns.Why don't you get me a real job where I could sell some goods?"

  "Talk is cheap, Milton," said Mr. Zwiebel. "But if I thought you meantit what you said I would take up an offer what I got it yesterday fromLevy Rothman, of Levy Rothman & Co. He wants a young feller what hecould bring up in the business, mommer, and make it a salesman out
ofhim. But what's the use?"

  "Maybe if you would take Milton down there and let Mr. Rothman seehim," Mrs. Zwiebel suggested, "maybe the boy would like the place."

  "No, sir," Mr. Zwiebel declared, "I wouldn't do it. I positivelywouldn't do nothing of the kind."

  He glanced anxiously at his son out of the corner of his eye, butMilton gave no sign.

  "Why should I do it?" he went on. "Levy Rothman is a good customer ofmine and he wants to pay a young feller fifteen dollars a week tostart. Naturally, he expects he should get a hard-working feller forthe money."

  He felt sure that the fifteen dollars a week would provoke some show ofinterest, and he was not mistaken.

  "Well, I can work as hard as the next one," Milton cried. "Why don'tyou take me down there and give me a show to get the job?"

  Mr. Zwiebel looked at his wife with an elaborate assumption ofdoubtfulness.

  "What could I say to a young feller like that, mommer?" he said. "Mindyou, I want to help him out. I want to make a man of him, mommer, butall the time I know how it would turn out."

  "How could you talk that way, popper?" Mrs. Zwiebel pleaded. "The boysays he would do his best. Let him have a chance, popper."

  "All right," he said heartily; "for your sake, mommer, I will do it.Milton, _lieben_, put on your coat and hat and we will go right down toRothman's place."

  When Mr. Zwiebel and Milton entered the sample-room of Levy Rothman &Co., three quarters of an hour later, Mr. Rothman was scanning theArrival of Buyers column in the morning paper.

  "Ah, Mr. Rothman," Zwiebel cried, "ain't it a fine weather?"

  "I bet yer it's a fine weather," Rothman agreed, "for cancellations. Weain't never had such a warm November in years ago already."

  "This is my boy Milton, Mr. Rothman, what I was talking to you about,"Zwiebel continued.

  "Yes?" Mr. Rothman said. "All right. Let him take down his coat andhe'll find a feather duster in the corner by them misses' reefers. Inever see nothing like the way the dust gets in here."

  Mr. Zwiebel fairly beamed. This was a splendid beginning.

  "Go ahead, Milton," he said; "take down your coat and get to work."

  But Milton showed no undue haste.

  "Lookyhere, pop," he said. "I thought I was coming down here to sellgoods."

  "Sell goods!" Rothman exclaimed. "Why, you was never in the cloak andsuit business before. Ain't it?"

  "Sure, I know," Milton replied, "but I can sell goods all right."

  "Not here, you couldn't," Rothman said. "Here, before a feller sellsgoods, he's got to learn the line, y'understand, and there ain't nobetter way to learn the line, y'understand, than by dusting it off."

  Milton put his hat on and jammed it down with both hands.

  "Then that settles it," he declared.

  "What settles it?" Rothman and Zwiebel asked with one voice; but beforeMilton could answer the sample-room door opened and a young womanentered. From out the coils of her blue-black hair an indelible leadpencil projected at a jaunty angle.

  "Mr. Rothman," she said, "Oppenheimer ain't credited us with that pieceof red velour we returned him on the twentieth, and he's charged us uptwice with the same item."

  "That's a fine crook for you," Rothman cried. "Write him he shouldpositively rectify all mistakes before we would send him a check. Thatfeller's got a nerve like a horse, Mr. Zwiebel. He wants me I shouldpay him net thirty days, and he never sends us a single statementcorrect. Anything else, Miss Levy?"

  "That's all, Mr. Rothman," she replied as she turned away.

  Milton watched her as she closed the door behind her, and then he threwdown his hat and peeled off his coat.

  "Gimme the feather duster," he said.

  * * * * *

  For two hours Milton wielded the feather broom, then Mr. Rothman wentout to lunch, and as a reflex Milton sank down in the nearest chair. Heopened the morning paper and buried himself in the past performances.

  "Milton," a voice cried sharply, "ain't you got something to do?"

  He looked up and descried Miss Levy herself standing over him.

  "Naw," he said, "I finished the dusting."

  Miss Levy took the paper gently but firmly from his hands.

  "You come with me," she said.

  He followed her to the office, where the monthly statements were readyfor mailing.

  "Put the statements in those envelopes," she said, "and seal them up."

  Milton sat down meekly on a high stool and piled up the envelopes infront of him.

  "Ain't you got any sponge for to wet these envelopes on?" he asked.

  Miss Levy favoured him with a cutting glance.

  "Ain't you delicate!" she said. "Use your tongue."

  For five minutes Milton folded and licked and then he hazarded aconversational remark:

  "You like to dance pretty well, don't you?" he said.

  "When I've got business to attend to," Miss Levy replied frigidly, "Idon't like anything."

  "But I mean I seen you at the I.O.M.A.'s racket last night," Miltoncontinued, "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 gethome till four o'clock."

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

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

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

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

  "Wait here," she hissed. "It's a customer, and everybody's out tolunch. 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 bass voiceasked.

  "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 acrackerjack.

  "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 oderKnoblauch_, it don't make no difference to me. I want to look atsome 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 perfectself-possession. "What can I do for you to-day?"

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

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

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

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

  "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 passed it off pleasantly.

  "You wouldn't want to pay for all the garments in misses' sizes thatfit me, Mr. Feigenbaum," she retorted as she struggled into the coat."My sister bought one just like this up on Thirty-fourth Street, andmaybe they
didn't charge her anything, neither. Why, Mr. Feigenbaum,she had to pay twenty-two fifty for the precisely same garment, and Icould have got her the same thing here for ten dollars, only Mr.Rothman wouldn't positively sell any goods at retail even to hiswork-people."

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

  "And maybe you think the design and workmanship was better?" she wenton. "Why, Mr. Feigenbaum, my sister had to sew on every one of thebuttons, 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 withboth hands, and nothing would tear."

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

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

  She nudged Milton.

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

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

  Feigenbaum looked up and frowned.

  "With me I ain't stuck on a feller what knocks a competitor's line," hesaid. "Sell your goods on their merits, young feller, and yourcustomers would never kick. This garment looks pretty good to mealready, Mr. Zwiebel, so if you got an order blank I'll give it you theparticulars."

  Miss Levy hastened to the office and returned with some order blankswhich she handed to Milton. Then she retreated behind a cloak-rackwhile Milton wielded a lead pencil in a businesslike fashion. There shelistened to Feigenbaum's dictation and unseen by him, she carefullywrote down his order.

  At length Feigenbaum concluded and Miss Levy hastened from behind therack.

  "Oh, Mr. Feigenbaum," she said in order to create a diversion, "wasn'tit you that wrote us about a tourist coat getting into your lastshipment by mistake?"

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

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

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

  Milton handed him Miss Levy's copy of the order and Feigenbaum read itwith knit brows.

  "Everything's all right," he said as he returned the order to Milton.

  He put on his hat preparatory to leaving.

  "All I got to say is," he went on, "that if you was as good a salesmanlike you was a writer, young feller, you'd be making more money foryourself and for Mr. Rothman."

  He closed the door behind him and Miss Levy turned to Milton.

  "Well, if you ain't the limit!" she said, and walked slowly into heroffice.

  For a quarter of an hour Milton moped about with the feather duster inhis hand until Rothman came back.

  "What's the matter, Milton?" he said, "Couldn't you find nothing betterto do as dust them garments all day? Why, if them garments would ofbeen standing on the sidewalk already, they would be clean by now.Couldn't you help Miss Levy a little?"

  "He did help me," Miss Levy cried from the doorway. "And, oh, Mr.Rothman, what do you think? Milton sold a big bill of goods to HenryFeigenbaum."

  * * * * *

  Ferdinand Rothman divided his time between a downtown law school andthe office of Henry D. Feldman, in which he was serving his clerkshippreparatory to his admission to the bar. He was a close student notonly of the law but of the manner and methods of his employer, and hereflected so successfully Mr. Feldman's pompous address that casualacquaintances repressed with difficulty an impulse to kick him on thespot. His hair was curly and brushed back in the prevailing mode, andhe wore eyeglasses mounted in tortoise-shell with a pendent blackribbon, albeit his eyesight was excellent.

  "Good evening, Miss Levy," he said patronizingly, when he entered heroffice late in the afternoon of Milton's hiring. "How d'ye feel afterthe dance last night?"

  "Pretty good," Miss Levy replied through a pen which she held betweenher teeth. "Milton, tell Mr. Rothman not to go home till he talks to meabout Mr. Pasinsky's mail."

  Milton hurried out of the office, while Ferdy Rothman stared after him.

  "Who's he?" Ferdy asked.

  "He come to work to-day," Miss Levy replied, "and he's going to be allright, too."

  Ferdy smiled contemptuously. He was accustomed, on his way uptown, tostopping in at his father's place of business, ostensibly for thepurpose of accompanying his father home. Other and more cogent reasonswere the eyes, the blue-black hair, and the trim little figure of MissClara Levy.

  "And what's he supposed to be doing around here?" Ferdy continued.

  "He's supposed to be learning the business," Miss Levy answered, "andhe ain't lost much time, either. He sold Henry Feigenbaum a bill ofgoods. You know Henry Feigenbaum. He's only got one eye, and he thinkseverybody is trying to do him."

  Here Milton Zwiebel returned.

  "It's all right," he said; "Mr. Rothman will see you before he goes."

  Ferdy Rothman lolled back in a chair, with one arm thrown over the toprail after the fashion of Henry D. Feldman's imitation of JudgeBlatchford's portrait in the United States District Courtroom.

  "Well, young man," he said in pompous accents, "how go the busy martsof trade these days?"

  Milton surveyed him in scornful amazement.

  "Hire a hall!" he said, and returned to the sample-room. It lacked halfan hour of closing time, and during that period Milton avoided MissLevy's office.

  At length Ferdinand Rothman and his father went home, and Milton oncemore approached Miss Levy.

  "Say, Miss Levy," he said, "who's that curly-haired young feller? Ain'the the one I seen you dancing with last night?"

  "Sure he is," Miss Levy replied.

  "I thought he was," Milton commented. "And wasn't he one ofthem--now--floor managers?"

  "Ain't you nosy?" Miss Levy answered as she swept all the torn paper onher desk into her apron.

  "Well, wasn't he?" Milton insisted.

  "Suppose he was?" she retorted. "All _you've_ got to do is to mail theseletters and be sure to get down at half-past seven sharp to-morrowmorning."

  "Do you get here at half-past seven?" he asked.

  "I certainly do," Miss Levy replied.

  "All right," he said, as he gathered up the mail, "I'll be here."

  Thus began the regeneration of Milton Zwiebel, for he soon perceivedthat to Miss Clara Levy a box of candy was not nearly so acceptable atoken of his esteem as was a cheerful dusting of the sample stock.Moreover, he discovered that it pleased Miss Levy to hear him talkintelligently of the style-numbers and their prices, and it was notlong before he became as familiar with his employer's line as was MissLevy herself. As for his punctuality, it soon became a habit, and everymorning at half-past six he ate a hurried breakfast and left the houselong before the elder Zwiebel had concluded his toilet.

  "I couldn't understand it, mommer," said Mr. Zwiebel, after Milton hadcompleted the sixth month of his employment with Levy Rothman. "Thatboy goes downtown every morning, mommer, before daylight practically,y'understand. He don't get home till half-past seven, and he stays homepretty near every night, mommer, and that feller Rothman kicks yet.Always he tells me the boy ain't worth a pinch of snuff and he wants Ishouldn't charge him no interest on that five thousand."

  "That's something I couldn't understand, neither," Mrs. Zwiebel replied."I ask Milton always how he gets along, and he tells me he is doingfine."

  "The boy tells me the same thing," Zwiebel continued, "and yet thatyoung feller, Ferdy Rothman, comes up to see me about getting a checkfor Milton's wages, and he says to me the boy acts like a regularlowlife."

  "Why don't you speak to Milton?" Mrs. Zwiebel broke in.

  "I did speak to him, mommer," Zwiebel declared, "and the boy looks atme so surprised that I couldn't say nothing. Also, I speaks to thishere Ferdy Rothman, mommer, and he says tha
t the boy acts somethingterrible. He says that Rothman's got a bookkeeper, y'understand, adecent, respectable young woman, and that Milton makes that girl's lifemiserable the way he's all the time talking to her and making jokes.Such a loafer what that boy is I couldn't understand at all."

  He sighed heavily and went downtown to his place of business. On thesubway he opened wide the _Tobacco Trade Journal_, thrust his legsforward into the aisle, and grew oblivious to his surroundings inperusing the latest quotations of leaf tobacco.

  "Why don't you hire it a special car?" a bass voice cried as its ownerstumbled over Zwiebel's feet.

  "Excuse me," Zwiebel exclaimed, looking up. "Excuse me, Mr. Feigenbaum.I didn't see you coming."

  "Oh, hello there, Zwiebel!" Feigenbaum cried, extending two fingers andsinking into the adjacent seat. "How's the rope business?"

  "I ain't in the rope business, Mr. Feigenbaum," Zwiebel said coldly.

  "Ain't you?" Feigenbaum replied. "I thought you was. I see your boyevery oncet in a while down at Rothman's, and he hands me out a pieceof rope which he gets from your place, Zwiebel. I take it from him toplease him."

  "You shouldn't do him no favours, Feigenbaum," Zwiebel cried. "Thatrope, as you call it, stands me in seventy dollars a thousand, and theway that boy helps himself, y'understand, you might think it was wastepaper."

  "Sure, I know," Feigenbaum answered. "I thought so, too, when I smokedit. But, anyhow, Zwiebel, I must say that boy of yours is all right."

  "What!" Zwiebel cried.

  "Yes, sir," Feigenbaum went on, "that boy has improved somethingwonderful. And certainly they think a great deal of him down there.Rothman himself told me that boy will make his mark some day, and youknow what I think, Zwiebel? I think the whole thing is due to thatyoung lady they got down there, that Miss Levy. That girl has got aheadpiece, y'understand, and certainly she took an interest in yourboy. She taught him all he knows, Zwiebel, and while I don't want tosay nothing about it, y'understand, I must got to say that that youngfeller thinks a whole lot of Miss Levy, and certainly I think that MissLevy somewhat reciprocates him."

  "Reciprocates him?" Zwiebel said. "That's where you make a big mistake,Mr. Feigenbaum. They don't reciprocate him; they reciprocate me,y'understand. Fifteen dollars every week they reciprocate me for thatboy's wages, and also a whole lot more, too."

  "You don't understand me," Feigenbaum declared. "I mean that Miss Levyseems to think a good deal of Milton, and maybe you don't think FerdyRothman is jealous from them, too? That feller could kill your boy,Zwiebel, and he done his best to get Rothman to fire him. I know it fora fact, because I was in there as late as yesterday afternoon and Iheard that young feller tell Rothman that Milton is too fresh and heshould fire him."

  "And what did Rothman say?" Zwiebel asked.

  "Rothman says that Ferdy should shut up his mouth, that Milton was agood boy and that Rothman knew what was the matter with Ferdy, and Iknew it, too, Zwiebel. That boy is jealous. Also, Rothman sayssomething else, what I couldn't understand exactly."

  "What was it?"

  "He asks Ferdy if he could pick up in the street five thousand dollarsat savings-bank interest."

  "'S'enough!" Zwiebel cried. "I heard enough, Feigenbaum. Just wait tillI see that feller Rothman, that's all."

  * * * * *

  When the train drew up at the Fourteenth Street station Zwiebel plungedthrough the crowd without waiting for Feigenbaum and stalkedindignantly to his place of business. When he entered his privateoffice he found a visitor waiting for him. It was Ferdy Rothman.

  "Ah, good-morning, Mr. Zwiebel," Ferdy cried, extending his hand in apatronizing imitation of Henry D. Feldman. "Glad to see you."

  Zwiebel evaded Ferdy's proffered hand and sat down at his desk withoutremoving his hat.

  "Well," he growled, "what d'ye want?"

  "I wanted to see you about something personal," Ferdy went on.

  "Go ahead," Zwiebel cried; "you tell me something personal first andI'll tell you something personal afterward what you and your old manwouldn't like at all."

  "Well," Ferdy continued, "I came to see you about Milton. There's ayoung man, Mr. Zwiebel, that is a credit to you in every way, and Ican't help thinking that he's wasting his time and his talents in myfather's place of business."

  "He is, hey?" said Zwiebel. "Well, he ain't wasting none of your oldman's time, Rothman, and he ain't wasting none of his money, neither."

  "That's just the point," Ferdy went on. "I can't stand by and see youwronged any longer. Not only is my father getting the service of a morethan competent salesman for nothing, but he's having the use of yourfive thousand dollars as well. Disgraceful, that's what I call it."

  Zwiebel gazed at him earnestly for a minute.

  "Say, lookyhere, Rothman," he said at length, "what monkey business areyou trying to do?"

  "I'm not trying to do any monkey business at all," Ferdy cried with agreat show of righteous indignation. "I'm doing this because I feelthat it's the only proper thing. What you want to do now is to takeMilton out of the old man's place and find him a job with some othercloak and suit concern. That boy could command his twenty-five a weekanywhere. Then, of course, the old man would have to cough up the fivethousand."

  Zwiebel nodded his head slowly.

  "You're a pretty good son, Rothman," he commented, "I must say. But,anyhow, you ain't very previous with your advice, because I made up mymind this morning already that that's what I would do, anyhow."

  He lit a cigar and puffed deliberately.

  "And now, Rothman," he said, "if you would excuse me, I got business toattend to."

  "Just one word more," Ferdy cried. "My father has got a girl workingfor him by the name of Levy, and I think if you knew what kind of girlshe is, you wouldn't want Milton to go with her any more."

  Zwiebel rose from his chair and his eyes blazed.

  "You dirty dawg!" he roared. "Out--out from my place!"

  He grabbed the collar of Ferdy's coat together with a handful of hiscurly hair, and with a well-directed kick he propelled the buddingadvocate through the office doorway. After a minute Ferdy pickedhimself up and ran to the stairway. There he paused and shook his fistat Zwiebel.

  "I'll make you sweat for this!" he bellowed.

  Zwiebel laughed raucously.

  "Say something more about that young lady," he cried, "and I'll kickyou to the subway yet."

  It was nearly half-past twelve when Charles Zwiebel entered thesample-room of Levy Rothman & Co., on Eighteenth Street. He descriedMilton in his shirt sleeves extolling the merits of one of Rothman'sstickers to a doubtful customer from Bradford County, Pennsylvania.

  "Hello, pop!" Milton cried. "Too busy to talk to you now. Take a seat."

  "Where's Rothman?" Zwiebel asked.

  "Out to lunch," Milton replied. "I'll be through in a minute."

  Zwiebel watched his son in silence until the sale was consummated, andafter Milton had shaken the departing customer's hand he turned to hisfather.

  "Well, pop," he said, "this is the first time you've been up here sinceI've been here, ain't it?"

  Zwiebel nodded.

  "I wish I would of come up here before," he said. "Say, Milton, who isthis here Miss Levy what works here?"

  Milton blushed.

  "She's in the office," he murmured. "Why, what do you want to knowfor?"

  "Well, I met Henry Feigenbaum in the car this morning," Zwiebel wenton, "and he was telling me about her. He says she comes from a familywhat him and me knows in the old country. The father drove a truckalready."

  "That's where you make a big mistake," Milton cried indignantly. "Herfather's in the real-estate business and pretty well fixed at that."

  Mr. Zwiebel smiled.

  "That must be Simon Levy, the feller what owns a couple houses withthat shark Henochstein. Ain't it?" he hazarded.

  "Her father ain't in partnership with nobody," Milton rejoined. "Hisname is Maximilian Levy a
nd he owns a whole lot of property."

  At this juncture Miss Levy herself poked her head through the doorway.

  "Milton," she cried sharply, "ain't you got something to do? Because ifyou haven't there are a lot of cutting slips to be made out."

  Charles Zwiebel's face spread into a broad grin. "Go ahead, Milton," hesaid, "and attend to business. I'll wait here till Rothman comes in."

  Ten minutes later Levy Rothman entered. He greeted Zwiebel with a scowland glared around the empty sample-room.

  "Well, Zwiebel," he growled, "what d'ye want now?"

  "Oh, nothing," Zwiebel replied blandly. "I thought I'd step in and seehow my Milton was getting along."

  "You see how he is getting along," Rothman said. "He ain't here at all.That feller takes an hour for his lunch every day."

  Zwiebel drew a cigar out of his pocket and licked it reflectively.

  "So," he said, "you couldn't do no better with him than that, hey?Well, Rothman, I guess it ain't no use fooling away your time any more.Give me my five thousand dollars and I will take back the boy into mybusiness again."

  Rothman turned pale.

  "If you would let the boy stay here a while," he suggested, "he wouldturn out all right, maybe."

  "What's the matter?" Zwiebel asked. "Ain't you got the five thousandhandy?"

  "The five thousand is nothing," Rothman retorted. "You could get yourfive thousand whenever you want it. The fact is, Zwiebel, while the boyis a low-life, y'understand, I take an interest in that boy and I wantto see if I couldn't succeed in making a man of him."

  Mr. Zwiebel waved his hand with the palm outward.

  "'S all right, Rothman," he said. "You shouldn't put yourself to allthat trouble. You done enough for the boy, and I'm sure I'm thankful toyou. Besides, I'm sick of fooling away fifteen dollars every week."

  Rothman shrugged his shoulders.

  "Nah!" he said. "Keep the fifteen dollars, I will pay him the fifteendollars out of my own pocket."

  "But the boy is all the time complaining, Rothman, he couldn't live onfifteen dollars a week."

  "All right, I'll give him twenty."

  Zwiebel rose to his feet.

  "You will, hey?" he roared. "You couldn't get that boy for fifty,Rothman, nor a hundred, neither, because I knew it all along, Rothman,and I always said it, that boy is a natural-born business man,y'understand, and next week I shall go to work and buy a cloak and suitbusiness and put him into it. And that's all I got to say to you."

  * * * * *

  Maximilian Levy, real-estate operator, sat in his private office andadded up figures on the back of an envelope. As he did so, CharlesZwiebel entered.

  "Mr. Levy?" Zwiebel said.

  "That's my name," Levy answered.

  "My name is Mr. Zwiebel," his visitor announced, "and I came to see youabout a business matter."

  "Take a seat, Mr. Zwiebel," Levy replied. "Seems to me I hear that namesomewheres."

  "I guess you did hear it before," Zwiebel said. "Your girl works by thesame place what my boy used to work."

  "Oh, Milton Zwiebel," Levy cried. "Sure I heard the name before. MyClara always talks about what a good boy he is."

  "I bet yer that's a good boy," Zwiebel declared proudly, "and a goodbusiness head, too, Mr. Levy. In fact, I am arranging about putting theboy into a cloak and suit business, and I understood you was a businessbroker as well as a real-estate operator."

  "Not no longer," Levy answered. "I used to be a business broker yearsago already, but I give it up since way before the Spanish War."

  "Never mind," Zwiebel said; "maybe you could help me out, anyway. WhatI'm looking for is a partner for my boy, and the way I feel about it islike this: The boy used to be a little wild, y'understand, and so I amlooking for a partner for him what would keep him straight; and nomatter if the partner didn't have no money, Mr. Levy, I wouldn't takeit so particular. That boy is the only boy what I got, and certainly Iain't a begger, neither, y'understand. You should ask anybody in thecigar business, Mr. Levy, and they will tell you I am pretty well fixedalready."

  "Sure, I know," Mr. Levy replied. "You got a pretty good rating. Ilooked you up already. But, anyhow, Mr. Zwiebel, I ain't in thebusiness brokerage no more."

  "I know you ain't," Zwiebel said, "but you could find just the partnerfor my boy."

  "I don't know of no partner for your boy, Mr. Zwiebel."

  "Yes, you do," Zwiebel cried. "You know the very partner what I wantfor that boy. Her name is Clara Levy."

  "What!" Levy cried.

  "Yes, sir," Zwiebel went on breathlessly. "That's the partner I mean.That boy loves that girl of yours, Mr. Levy, and certainly he ought tolove her, because she done a whole lot for that boy, Mr. Levy, and Igot to say that she thinks a whole lot of him, too."

  "But----" Mr. Levy commenced.

  "But nothing, Mr. Levy," Zwiebel interrupted. "If the girl is satisfiedI wouldn't ask you to do a thing for the boy. Everything I will do forhim myself."

  Mr. Levy rose and extended his hand.

  "Mr. Zwiebel," he declared, "this is certainly very generous of you. Itell you from the bottom of my heart I got four girls at home and twoof 'em ain't so young no more, so I couldn't say that I am all broke upexactly. At the same time, Mr. Zwiebel, my Clara is a good girl, andthis much I got to say, I will give that girl a trousseau like a queenshould wear it."

  Zwiebel shrugged.

  "Well, sure," he said, "it ain't no harm that a girl should have a fewdiamonds what she could wear it occasionally. At the same time, don'tgo to no expense."

  "And I will make for her a wedding, Mr. Zwiebel," Levy criedenthusiastically, "which there never was before. A bottle oftchampanyer wine to every guest."

  "And now, Mr. Levy," Zwiebel said, "let us go downstairs and have abottle tchampanyer wine to ourselves."

  That evening Milton and Clara sat together in the front parlour of theLevy residence on One Hundred and Nineteenth Street. They had plightedtheir troth more than an hour before and ought to have been billing andcooing.

  "No, Milton," Clara said as she caressed her fiance's hand, "creditinformation shouldn't be entered on cards. It ought to be placed in anenvelope and indexed on a card index after it's been filed. Then youcan put the mercantile agency's report right in the envelope."

  "Do you think we should get some of them loose-leaf ledgers?" he askedher as he pressed a kiss on her left hand.

  "I think they're sloppy," she replied. "Give me a bound ledger everytime."

  "All right," Milton murmured. "Now, let's talk about something else."

  "Yes," she cried enthusiastically, "let's talk about the fixtures. Whatd'ye say to some of those low racks and----"

  "Oh, cut it out!" Milton said as he took a snugger reef in his embrace."How about the music at the wedding?"

  "Popper will fix that," she replied.

  "No, he won't," Milton exclaimed. "I'm going to pay for it myself. Infact, I'll hire 'em to-morrow morning."

  "Who'll you get?" she asked.

  "Professor Lusthaus's grand orchestra," Milton said with a grin.