The Competitive Nephew. Glass Montague
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of Fillup. That boy ain't going to fool away his time here, Sam, and don't you forget it."
The corners of his mouth tightened in a manner that boded ill for Philip, and his face had not resumed its normal amiability when Aaron Pinsky entered, with his nephew Philip in tow.
"Hallo, boys," he said. "This is the young man I was talking to you about. Fillup, shake hands with Mr. Zaretsky and Mr. Fatkin."
After this operation was concluded, Mr. Pinsky indulged in a fit of coughing that almost broke the carbon filaments in the electric-light bulbs.
"Fillup," he gasped, as he wiped his crimson face, "make for them a couple birds with a pen."
"That's all right," Max interrupted, "we take your word for it. Birds is nix here, Aaron. We ain't in the millinery business, we are in the cloak and suit business, and instead Fillup should be making birds yet, he shouldn't lose no time, but Sam will show him our stock. Right away we will learn him the line."
"Business ahead of pleasure, Aaron," Sam broke in hurriedly, with a significant frown at his partner. "The boy will got lots of time to make birds in the dull season. Just now we are rushed to death, Aaron. Come, Fillup, I'll show you where you should put your hat and coat."
Max forced an amiable smile as he handed Aaron Pinsky a cigar.
"I congradulate you, Aaron," he said. "You got a smart boy for a nephew, and I bet yer he would learn quick the business. For a start we will pay him three dollars a week."
Aaron stared indignantly and almost snatched the proffered cigar from Max's hand.
"Three dollars a week!" he exclaimed. "What do you take the boy for—a greenhorn? Positively you should pay the boy five dollars, otherwise he would put on his clothes and go right straight home."
"But, Aaron," Max protested, "I oser got three dollars a week when I started in as a new beginner. I was glad they should pay me two dollars a week so long as I learned it the business."
"I suppose you went to business college, too, Max. What? I bet yer when you first went to work you got to think hard before you could sign your name even."
Max shrugged his shoulders.
"Birds, I couldn't make it, Aaron," he admitted; "but the second week I was out of Castle Garden my mother, selig, sends me to night school, and they don't learn you birds in night school, Aaron. But, anyhow, Aaron, what's the use we should quarrel about it? If you want we should pay the boy five dollars a week—all right. I'm sure if he's worth three he's worth five. Ain't it? And what's more, Aaron, if the boy shows he takes an interest we would give him soon a raise of a couple of dollars. We ain't small."
"I know you ain't, Max," said Aaron, "otherwise I wouldn't bring the boy here at all."
He looked proudly toward the rear of the showroom where Philip was examining the ticketed garments under the supervision of Sam Zaretsky.
"The boy already takes an interest, Max," he said; "I bet yer he would know your style-numbers by to-night already."
For half an hour longer Sam Zaretsky explained the sample line to Philip, and at length he handed the boy a feather duster, and returned to the front of the showroom.
"The boy is all right, Aaron," he said. "A good, smart boy, Max, and he ain't afraid to open his mouth, neither."
"I bet yer he ain't," Aaron replied, as Philip approached with a sample garment in one hand and the feather duster in the other.
"Look, Mr. Zaretsky," he said, "here's one of your style twenty-twenty-two with a thirty-twenty-two ticket on to it."
Sam examined the garment and stared at his partner.
"The boy is right, Max," he said. "We got the wrong ticket on that garment."
For one brief moment Aaron glanced affectionately at his nephew, and then he voiced his pride and admiration in a paroxysm of coughing that made Miss Meyerson come running from the office.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Couldn't I do something?"
For almost five minutes Aaron rocked and wheezed in his chair. At length, when he seemed to be at the point of suffocation, Miss Meyerson slapped him on the back, and with a final gasp he recovered his breath.
"Thanks, much obliged," he said, as he wiped his streaming eyes.
"You're sure you don't want a doctor?" Miss Meyerson said.
"Me? A doctor?" he replied. "What for?"
He picked up his cigar from the floor and struck a match. "This is all the doctor I need," he said.
Miss Meyerson returned to the office.
"Who's that?" Aaron inquired, nodding his head in the direction of Miss Meyerson.
"That's our new bookkeeper which we got it," Max replied.
"So you hired it a lady bookkeeper," Aaron commented. "What did you done that for, Max?"
"Well, why not?" Max retorted. "We got with her first class, A Number One references, Aaron, and although she only come this morning, she is working so smooth like she was with us six months already. For my part it is all the same to me if we would have a lady bookkeeper, or a bookkeeper."
"I know," Aaron continued, "but ladies in business is like salt in the cawfee. Salt is all right and cawfee also, but you don't got to hate salt exactly, y'understand, to kick when it gets in the cawfee. That's the way with me, Max; I ain't no lady-hater, y'understand, but I don't like 'em in business, except for saleswomen, models, and buyers, y'understand."
"But that Miss Meyerson," Sam broke in, "she attends strictly to business, Aaron."
"Sure, I know, Sam," Aaron replied. "Slaps me on the back yet when I am coughing."
"Well, she meant it good, Aaron," Sam said.
"Sure, that's all right," Aaron agreed. "Sure, she meant it good. But it's the idee of the thing, y'understand. Women in business always means good, Max, but they butt in too much."
"Other people butts in, too," Max added.
"I don't say they don't, Max. But you take it me, for instance. When something happens which it makes me feel bad, Max, I got to swear, y'understand. I couldn't help it. And, certainly, while I don't say that swearing is something which a gentleman should do, especially when there's a lady, y'understand, still, swearing a little sometimes is good for the gesund. Instead a feller should make another feller a couple blue eyes, Max, let him swear. It don't harm nobody, and certainly nobody could sue you in the courts because you swear at him like he could if you make for him a couple blue eyes. But you take it when there is ladies, Max, and then you couldn't swear."
"Sure, I know," Max rejoined; "and you couldn't make it a couple blue eyes on a feller when ladies would be present neither, Aaron. It wouldn't be etty-kit."
"Me, I ain't so strong on the etty-kit," Sam broke in at this juncture; "but I do know, Max, that we are fooling away our whole morning here."
Aaron Pinsky rose.
"Well, boys," he said, "I got to be going. So I wish you luck with your new boy."
Once more he looked affectionately toward the rear of the room where Philip industriously wielded the feather duster, and then made his way toward the elevator. As he passed Miss Meyerson's desk she looked up and beamed a farewell at him. He caught it out of the corner of his eye and frowned absently.
"I wish you better," Miss Meyerson called.
"Thanks very much," Aaron replied, as the floor of the descending elevator made a dark line across the ground-glass door of the shaft. He half paused for a moment, but his shyness overcame him.
"Going down!" he yelled, and thrusting his hat more firmly on his head he disappeared into the elevator.
Three days afterward Aaron Pinsky again