Part 5 (1/2)
”Since I ain't been taking the medicine it ain't been so good,” Aaron announced, and, as if in corroboration of his statement, he immediately entered upon a fit of coughing that well-nigh strangled him. After Miss Meyerson had brought him a gla.s.s of water he repeated the narrative of the burned-out drug store and produced the bottle from his breast-pocket.
”That's too bad that the prescription was burned,” Miss Meyerson said.
”I'll get another one from my cousin's husband to-night and bring it down here to-morrow.”
”Hold on there, Miss Meyerson,” Aaron said. ”To-morrow them boys might be in here, and I don't want to risk it.”
”Why, they wouldn't bite you, Mr. Pinsky,” she declared.
”Sure, I know. But the fact is I feel kind of funny about meeting 'em again--just yet a while, anyhow.”
”But, Mr. Pinsky,” Miss Meyerson went on persuasively, ”it's foolish of you to feel that way about it.”
”Maybe it is,” Aaron admitted, ”but, just the same, Miss Meyerson, if you wouldn't think it fresh or anything, I'd like to come up and call on you to-night, if you don't mind, Miss Meyerson, and you could give me the prescription then.”
”Why, certainly,” Miss Meyerson cried heartily. She turned to her desk and opened her handbag.
”Here's my card,” she said. ”I live with my cousin, Mrs. Goldenreich.”
”Thanks; much obliged,” Aaron murmured, pocketing the card. ”I'll be there at eight o'clock.”
Once more he glanced furtively around him and then, with a final handshake, he started off on tiptoe for the stairs. As soon as he disappeared Miss Meyerson took up the receiver.
”Ten-oh-four-oh, Harlem,” she said.
”h.e.l.lo,” she continued, ”is this you, Bertha? Well, this is Miriam.
Will you send over to Reisbecker's and get a four-pound haddock? Never mind what I want it for. I'm going to have company to-night. Yes, that's right, and I want to make some _gefullte fische_. You say you have plenty of onions? Well, then, I'll bring home ten cents' worth of Spanish saffron and half a dozen fresh eggs. I'll make some _mohnkuchen_ after I get home. Did my white silk waist come back from the cleaners?
I don't care. You can't jolly me. Good-bye.”
It was almost one o'clock before she remembered to telephone over to Wa.s.serbauer's, and when Sam and Max returned they dashed into the office and exclaimed: ”Well?” with what the musical critics call splendid attack.
”He's coming over to call on me to-night,” Miss Meyerson replied with a blush, ”and I'll see what I can do then.”
”You see, Sam,” Max commented, ”I told you you shouldn't reckon up how much chickens you will got till the hen lays 'em.”
Max Fatkin visited a buyer at an uptown hotel on his way to the office the following morning, so that it was nearly nine before he entered his showroom. As he walked from the elevator he glanced toward Miss Meyerson's desk. It was vacant.
”Sam,” he cried, ”where's Miss Meyerson?”
Sam Zaretsky emerged from behind a rack of skirts and shrugged his shoulders.
”She's late the first time since she's been with us, Max,” he replied.
”Might she is sick, maybe,” Max suggested. ”I'll ring up her cousin, the doctor, and find out.”
”That's a good idee,” Sam replied. Max was pa.s.sing the elevator door when it opened with a sc.r.a.pe and a clang.
”Hallo, Max!” a familiar voice cried.
Max turned toward the elevator and gasped, for it was Pinsky who stepped out. His wonder grew to astonishment, however, when he beheld Aaron tenderly a.s.sisting Miss Meyerson to alight from the elevator.