Part 17 (2/2)

”Falkstatter, Fein & Company is all right,” he admitted.

”And, furthermore,” Max continued, ”we sold 'em fancy colours like wistaria, copenhagen, and champagne; and them navy blues and browns they wouldn't touch.”

”No?” Sam said weakly.

”So you see, popper, if you would been downtown we wouldn't got that order at all,” Max continued. ”So what's the use worrying yourself?”

”He's right, popper,” Babette added. ”You're getting too old to be going downtown every day. The boys could look after the business. It's time you took a rest.”

At this juncture Doctor Eichendorfer entered.

”h.e.l.lo!” he said. ”What are you doing sitting up here? You must get right back to bed.”

”What are you talking nonsense?” Sam cried. ”I am feeling pretty good already.”

”You look it,” Eichendorfer said. ”If you could see the way you are run down this last week yet you wouldn't talk so fresh.”

He seized Sam by the arm as he spoke and lifted him out of the chair.

”You ain't so heavy like you used to be, Mr. Gembitz,” he went on as he helped Sam to his bed. ”Another week and you could sit up, but not before.”

Sam groaned as they tucked the covers around him.

”Now you see how weak you are,” Eichendorfer cried triumphantly. ”Don't get up again unless I would tell you first.”

After leaving some more tablets, Doctor Eichendorfer took his leave; and half an hour later Sam knew by the tantalizing odours that pervaded his bedroom that the family dined on stewed chicken with _Kartoffel Klosse_. For the remainder of the evening Sam lay with his eyes closed; and whenever Babette approached his bedside with a tumbler of water and the box of tablets he snored ostentatiously. Thus he managed to evade the appet.i.te-dispelling medicine until nearly midnight, when Babette coughed loudly.

”Popper,” she said, ”I'm going to bed and I want you to take your tablets.”

”Leave 'em on the chair here,” he replied, ”and I'll take 'em in a few minutes.”

He watched her place the tablets on the chair; and as soon as her back was turned he seized them eagerly and thrust them into the pocket of his night-s.h.i.+rt.

”Where's the water?” he mumbled; and when Babette handed him the tumbler he gulped down the water with noise sufficient to account for a boxful of tablets.

”Now, leave me alone,” he said; and Babette kissed him coldly on the left ear.

”I hope you'll feel better in the morning,” she said dutifully.

”Don't worry,” Sam said. ”I'm going to.”

He listened carefully until he heard the door close and then he threw back the coverlet. Very gingerly he slid to the carpet and planted himself squarely on his feet. A sharp attack of ”pins and needles”

prevented any further movement for some minutes; but at length it subsided and he began to search for his slippers. His bathrobe hung on the back of the door, and, after he had struggled into it, he opened the door stealthily and, clinging to the bal.u.s.trade, crept downstairs to the bas.e.m.e.nt.

He negotiated the opening of the ice-box door with the skill of an experienced burglar; and immediately thereafter he sat down at the kitchen table in front of a dishful of stewed chicken, four cold boiled potatoes, the heel of a rye loaf, and a bottle of beer. Twenty minutes later he laid away the empty dish on top of the kitchen sink, with the empty beer bottle beneath it; then, after supplying himself with a box of matches, he crept upstairs to his room.

When Babette opened the door the following morning she raised her chin and sniffed suspiciously.

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