Part 30 (1/2)
”No, Milton,” Clara said as she caressed her fiance's hand, ”credit information shouldn't be entered on cards. It ought to be placed in an envelope and indexed on a card index after it's been filed. Then you can put the mercantile agency's report right in the envelope.”
”Do you think we should get some of them loose-leaf ledgers?” he asked her as he pressed a kiss on her left hand.
”I think they're sloppy,” she replied. ”Give me a bound ledger every time.”
”All right,” Milton murmured. ”Now, let's talk about something else.”
”Yes,” she cried enthusiastically, ”let's talk about the fixtures. What d'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. In fact, I'll hire 'em to-morrow morning.”
”Who'll you get?” she asked.
”Professor l.u.s.thaus's grand orchestra,” Milton said with a grin.
CHAPTER SIX
BIRSKY & ZAPP
”A charitable sucker like Jonas Eschenbach, of Cordova, Ohio, is always a close buyer, Barney,” said Louis Birsky to his partner, Barnett Zapp, as they sat in their show-room one morning in April. ”For every dollar he gives to an orphan asylum _oder_ a hospital, understand me, he beats Adelstern down two on his prices; and supposing Adelstern does sell him every season, for example, eight thousand dollars, Barney--what is it?”
”Sure, I know, Louis,” Barnett Zapp retorted satirically. ”The dawg says the grapes ain't ripe because he couldn't reach 'em already.”
Birsky shrugged his shoulders.
”For that matter, Barney,” he said, ”if the dawg could reach 'em _oder_ not, y'understand, it wouldn't make no difference, Barney, because a dawg don't eat grapes anyhow. He eats meat, Barney; and, furthermore, Barney, if you think it's _bekovet_ one partner calls the other partner a dawg, y'understand, go ahead and do so, Barney.”
”I ain't calling you a dawg, Louis,” Zapp protested.
”Ain't you?” Louis rejoined. ”All right, Barney, then I must be getting deaf all of a sudden; but whether you are calling me a dawg _oder_ not, Barney, I ain't looking to sell no goods to Jonas Eschenbach. On account even if he would buy at our price, y'understand, then he wants us we should _schnoder_ for this orphan asylum a hundred dollars and for that orphan asylum another hundred, understand me--till we don't get no profit left at all.”
”That's all right, Louis,” Barney said. ”It don't do no harm that a feller should give to charity oncet in a while, even if it would be to please a customer.”
”I wouldn't argue with you, Barney,” Louis agreed, ”but another thing, Barney: the feller is crazy about baseball, understand me, which every time he is coming down here in August to buy his fall and winter line, Adelstern must got to waste a couple weeks going on baseball games _mit_ him.”
”Well, anyhow, Louis, Adelstern don't seem so anxious to get rid of him,” Zapp said. ”Only yesterday I seen him lunching with Eschenbach over in Hammersmith's, y'understand; and the way Adelstern is spreading himself _mit_ broiled squabs and 'sparagus and hafterward a pint of tchampanyer to finish, understand me, it don't look like he is losing out on Eschenbach.”
”That's all right, Barney,” Birsky declared as he rose to his feet; ”some people wastes money and some people wastes time, and if you ain't got no objections, Barney, I would take a look into the cutting room and see how Golnik is getting on with them 1855's. We must positively got to s.h.i.+p them goods to Feigenbaum before the end of next week; because you know as well as I do, Barney, with a crank like Feigenbaum we couldn't take no chances. He is coming in here this morning yet, and the first thing he wants to know is how about them 1855's.”
As he started for the door, however, he was interrupted by Jacob Golnik, who comported himself in a manner so apologetic as to be well-nigh cringing.
”Mr. Birsky,” he said, ”could I speak a few words something to you?”
”What's the matter, Golnik?” exclaimed Birsky. ”Did you spoil them 1855's on us?”