Part 20 (2/2)

”Why didn't you stay all night, popper?” she demanded indignantly.

”Here I am all dressed and waiting to go downtown--and you keep me standing around like this.”

”Another time you shouldn't wait at all,” Sam retorted. ”If you want to go downtown, go ahead. I could always ask the girl for something if I should happen to need it.”

He watched Babette leave the house with a sigh of relief, and for the remainder of the afternoon he made intricate calculations with the stub of a lead pencil on the backs of old envelopes. Ten minutes before Babette returned he thrust the envelopes into his pocket and smiled with satisfaction, for he had computed to a nicety just how low a price he could quote on Henry Schrimm's stickers, so as to leave a margin of profit for Henry after his own commissions were paid.

The following morning Sam arrayed himself with more than ordinary care, and promptly at ten o'clock he seized his cane and started for the door.

”Where are you going?” Babette demanded.

”I guess I would take a little walk in the park,” he said to his daughter in tremulous tones, and Babette eyed him somewhat suspiciously.

”Furthermore,” he said boldly, ”if you want to come with me you could do so. The way you are looking so yellow lately, Babette, a little walk in the park wouldn't do you no harm.”

Sam well knew that his daughter was addicted to the practice of facial ma.s.sage, and he felt sure that any reference to yellowness would drive Babette to her dressing-table and keep her safely engaged with mirror and cold cream until past noon.

”Don't stay out long,” she said, and Sam nodded.

”I would be back when I am hungry,” he replied; ”and maybe I would take a look in at Mrs. Krakauer. If you get anxious about me telephone her.”

Ten minutes later he called at the cigar store on Lenox Avenue and secured his samples, after which he rang up Mrs. Schrimm.

”h.e.l.lo, Henrietta!” he shouted, ”This is Sam--yes, Sam Gembitz. What is the matter? Nothing is the matter. Huh? Sure, I feel all right. I give you a scare? Why should I give you a scare, Henrietta? Sure, we are old friends; but that ain't the point, Henrietta. I want to ask you you should do me something as a favour. You should please be so good and ring up Mrs. Krakauer, which you should tell her, if Babette rings her up and asks for me any time between now and six o'clock to-night, she should say I was there, but I just left. Did you get that straight? All right. Good-bye.”

He heaved a sigh of relief as he paid for the telephone call and pocketed a handful of cheap cigars.

”Don't you want a boy to help you carry them samples, Mr. Gembitz?” the proprietor asked.

”Do I look like I wanted a boy to help me carry samples?” Sam retorted indignantly, and a moment later he swung aboard an eastbound crosstown car.

It was past noon when Sam entered Henry Schrimm's showroom and his face bore a broad, triumphant grin.

”Well, Henry,” he shouted, ”what did I told you? To a feller which he is knowing how to sell goods there ain't no such things as stickers.”

”Did you get rid of 'em?” Henry asked.

Sam shook his head.

”No, Henry,” he said, ”I didn't get rid of 'em--I sold 'em; and, furthermore, Henry, I sold four hundred dollars' worth more just like 'em to Mr. Rosett, of the Roch.e.l.le Department Store, which you should send him right away a couple sample garments of them 1040's.”

”What d'ye mean, 1040's?” Henry asked. ”I ain't got no such lot number in my place.”

”No, I know you ain't; but I mean our style 1040--that is to say, Gembitz Brothers' style 1040.”

Henry blushed.

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