Part 17 (1/2)

”That's your dinner,” Babette replied, ”and you should thank Gawd you are able to eat it.”

”You don't got to told me who I should thank for such slops which you are bringing me,” he said, with every trace of convalescence gone from his tones. ”Take that d.a.m.n thing away and give me something to eat.

Ain't that _gedampftes Kalbfleisch_ I smell?”

Babette made no reply, but gazed sadly at her father as she placed the tray on a chair beside his bed.

”You don't know yourself how sick you are,” she said. ”Doctor Eichendorfer says you should be very quiet.”

This admonition produced no effect on Sam, who immediately started on an abusive criticism of physicians in general and Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer in particular.

”What does that _dummer Esel_ know?” he demanded. ”I bet yer that the least he tells you is I got Bright's Disease!”

Babette shook her head slowly.

”So you know it yourself all the time,” she commented bitterly; ”and yet you want to eat _gedampftes Kalbfleisch_, when you know as well as I do it would pretty near kill you.”

”Kill me!” Sam shouted. ”What d'ye mean, kill me? I eat some _Rinderbrust_ for my lunch yet; and that's all what ails me. I ain't got no more Bright's Disease as you got it.”

”If you think that lying is going to help you, you're mistaken,”

Babette replied calmly. ”To a man in your condition _gedampftes Kalbfleisch_ is poison.”

”I ain't lying to you,” Sam insisted. ”I am eating too much lunch, I am telling you.”

”And you're not going to eat too much dinner!” Babette said as she tiptoed from the room.

Thus Sam drank a gla.s.s of b.u.t.termilk and ate some dry toast for his supper; and, in consequence, he slept so soundly that he did not waken until Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer entered his room at eight o'clock the following morning. Under the bullying frown of his daughter Sam submitted to a physical examination that lasted for more than an hour; and when Doctor Eichendorfer departed he left behind him four varieties of tablets and a general interdiction against eating solid food, getting up, going downtown, or any of the other dozen things that Sam insisted upon doing.

It was only under the combined persuasion of Max, Babette, and Lester that he consented to stay in bed that forenoon; and when lunchtime arrived he was so weakened by a twenty-four-hour fast and Doctor Eichendorfer's tablets, that he was glad to remain undisturbed for the remainder of the day.

At length, after one bedridden week, accompanied by a liquid diet and more tablets, Sam was allowed to sit up in a chair and to partake of a slice of chicken.

”Well, popper, how do you feel to-day?” asked Max, who had just arrived from the office.

”I feel pretty sick, Max,” Sam replied; ”but I guess I could get downtown to-morrow, all right.”

Babette sat nearby and nodded her head slowly.

”Guess some more, popper,” she said. ”Before you would go downtown yet, you are going to Lakewood.”

”Lakewood!” Sam exclaimed. ”What d'ye mean, Lakewood? If you want to go to Lakewood, go ahead. I am going downtown to-morrow. What, d'ye think a business could run itself?”

”So far as business is concerned,” Max said, ”you shouldn't trouble yourself at all. We are hustling like crazy downtown and we already sold over three thousand dollars' worth of them 1040's.”

Sam sat up suddenly.

”I see my finish,” he said, ”with you boys selling goods left and right to a lot of fakers like the New Idea Store.”

”New Idea Store nothing!” Max retorted. ”We are selling over two thousand dollars to Falkstatter, Fein & Company--and I guess they're fakers--what!”

Sam leaned back in his chair.